STEPHEN  Bo  WEEKS 

CLASS  OF  1886;  PH.D.  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNtVERSnY 

OF  THE 

UNIVEIRSiniY  dDF  NdDim  CMdJUNA 
ME  WEEKS  COLILECTKON 

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CAKDLINMM 


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This  book  must  not 
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Library  building. 


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THE 

ei)arle£i  W. 

Cbefinutt 

CONJURE  WOMAN 

i6mo,  $1.25. 

THE 

WIFE  OF  HIS  YOUTH.     Illustrated. 

Crown 

8vo 

,  $1.50. 

THE 

HOUSE    BEHIND 

THE    CEDARS. 

Crown 

8vo 

,51.50. 

HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

Boston  and 

New  York. 

THE  HOUSE  BEHIND 
THE  CEDARS 


BY 


CHARLES  W.  CHESNUTT 


BOSTON  AXD  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,    1900,   BY  CHARLES  W.   CHESNUTT 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  A  Stranger  from  South  Carolina       .        .  1 

n.  An  Evening  Visit 14 

III.  The  Old  Judge 32 

IV.  Down  the  River           .          ....  36 
V.  The  Tournament 45 

VI.  The  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty      .        .        59 
VII.  'Med  New  Surroundings  .        .        .        .        »    v33 

VIII.   The  Courtship 67 

IX.  Doubts  and  Fears 77 

X.   The  Dream 88 

XL   A  Letter  and  a  Journey       .        .        .        .96 
XII.   Tryon  goes  to  Patesville       .  .        .        .      104 

XIII.  An  Injudicious  Payment  ....  116 

XIV.  A  Loyal  Friend 124 

XV.  Mine  Own  People 132 

XVI.   The  Bottom  falls  out         ....      142 

XVIL   Two  Letters 149 

XVIII.   Under  the  Old  Regime        ....      155 

XIX.   God  jiade  us  All 178 

XX.   Digging  up  Roots 189 

XXL  A  Gilded  Opportunity 193 

XXII.   Imperative  Business 203 

XXIII.  The  Guest  of  Honor 209 

XXIV.  Swing  your  Partners          ....      220 
XXV.  Balance  All 228 

XXVL  The  Schoolhousb  in  the  Woods         .        .      233 
XX\r[L   An  Interesting  Acquaintance      .        .        .  239 

XXVIII.   The  Lost  Knife 244 

XXIX.  Plato  earns  Half  a  Dollar         .        .        .  251 

XXX.  An  Unusual  Honor 260 

XXXI.  In  Deep  Waters 268 

XXXIL  The  Power  of  Love 277 

XXXin.  A  Mule  and  a  Cart 282 


THE   HOUSE    BEHIND  THE 

CEDARS 


A   STKANGER   FROM    SOUTH   CAROLINA 

vTiME  touclies  all  things  with  destroying  hand ; 
and  if  he  seem  now  and  then  to  bestow  the  bloom 
of  youth,  the  sap  of  spring,  it  is  but  a  brief  mock- 
ery, to  be  surely  and  swiftly  followed  by  the  wrin- 
kles of  old  age,  the  dry  leaves  and  bare  branches 
of  winter.  And  yet  there  are  places  where  Time 
seems  to  linger  lovingly  long  after  youth  has  de- 
parted, and  to  which  he  seems  loath  to  bring  the 
evil  day.  Who  has  not  known  some  even-tem- 
pered old  man  or  woman  who  seemed  to  have 
di'imk  of  the  fountain  of  youth  ?  Who  has  not 
seen  somewhere  an  old  town  that,  having  long 
since  ceased  to  grow,  yet  held  its  own  without  per- 
ceptible decline? 

Some  such  trite  reflection  —  as  apposite  to  the 
subject  as  most  random  reflections  are  —  passed 
through  the  mind  of  a  young  man  who  came  out 
of  the  front  door  of  the  Patesville  Hotel  about  -t"?"^ 
nine  o'clock  one  fine  morning  in  spring,  a  few  years 
after  the  Civil  War,  and  started  down  Front  Street 


2    THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

toward  the  market-house.  Arriving  at  the  town 
late  the  previous  evening,  he  had  been  driven  up 
from  the  steamboat  in  a  carriage,  from  which  he 
had  been  able  to  distinguish  only  the  shadowy  out- 
lines of  the  houses  along  the  street ;  so  that  this 
morning  walk  was  his  first  opportunity  to  see  the 
town  by  daylight.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
linen  duck  —  the  day  was  warm  —  a  panama  straw 
hat,  and  patent  leather  shoes.  In  appearance  he 
was  taU,  dark,  with  straight,  black,  lustrous  hair, 
and  very  clean-cut,  high-bred  features.  When  he 
paused  by  the  clerk's  desk  on  his  way  out,  to  light 
his  cigar,  the  day  clerk,  who  had  just  come  on  duty, 
glanced  at  the  register  and  read  the  last  entry :  — 

" '  John  Warwick,  Clarence,  South  Carolina.' 

"  One  of  the  South  Ca'lina  bigbugs,  I  reckon 
—  probably  in  cotton,  or  turpentine."  The  gentle- 
man from  South  Carolina,  walking  down  the  street, 
glanced  about  him  with  an  eager  look,  in  which 
curiosity  and  affection  were  mingled  with  a  touch 
of  bitterness.  He  saw  little  that  was  not  familiar, 
or  that  he  had  not  seen  in  his  dreams  a  hundred 
times  during  the  past  ten  years.  There  had  been 
some  changes,  it  is  true,  some  melancholy  changes, 
but  scarcely  anything  by  way  of  addition  or  im- 
provement to  counterbalance  them.  Here  and 
there  blackened  and  dismantled  walls  marked  the 
place  where  handsome  buildings  once  had  stood,  for 
Sherman's  march  to  the  sea  had  left  its  mark  upon 
the  town.     The  stores  were  mostly  of  brick,  two 


A  STRANGER  FROM  SOUTH  CAROLINA       3 

stories  high,  joining  one  another  after  the  manner 
of  cities.  Some  of  the  names  on  the  sig^ns  were 
familiar ;  others,  inchiding  a  number  of  Jewish 
names,  were  quite  imknown  to  him. 

A  two  minutes'  walk  brought  Warwick  —  the 
name  he  had  registered  under,  and  as  we  shall  call 
him  —  to  the  market-house,  the  central  feature  of 
Patesville,  from  both  the  commercial  and  the  pic- 
turesque points  of  view.  Standing  foursquare  in 
the  heart  of  the  town,  at  the  intersection  of  the 
two  main  streets,  a  "  jog "  at  each  street  corner 
left  around  the  market-house  a  little  public  square, 
which  at  this  hour  was  well  occupied  by  carts  and 
wagons  from  the  country  and  empty  drays  await- 
ing hire.  Warwick  was  unable  to  perceive  much 
change  in  the  market-house.  Perhaps  the  surface 
of  the  red  brick,  long  unpainted,  had  scaled  off  a 
little  more  here  and  there.  There  might  have  been 
a  shght  accretion  of  the  moss  and  lichen  on  the 
shingled  roof.  But  the  tall  tower,  with  its  four- 
faced  clock,  rose  as  majestically  and  uncompromis- 
ingly as  though  the  land  had  never  been  subjugated. 
Was  it  so  irreconcilable,  Warwick  wondered,  as 
still  to  peal  out  the  curfew  bell,  which  at  nine 
o'clock  at  night  had  clamorously  warned  all  negroes, 
slave  or  free,  that  it  was  unlawful  for  them  to  be 
abroad  after  that  hour,  under  penalty  of  imprison- 
ment or  whipping  ?  Was  the  old  constable,  whose 
chief  business  it  had  been  to  ring  the  bell,  still 
alive  and  exercising  the  functions  of  his  office,  and 
had  age  lessened  or  increased  the  number  of  times 


4    THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

that  obliging  citizens  performed  this  duty  for  him 
during  his  temporary  absences  in  the  company  of 
convivial  spirits?  A  few  moments  later,  Warwick 
saw  a  colored  policeman  in  the  old  constable's 
place  —  a  stronger  reminder  than  even  the  burned 
buildings  that  war  had  left  its  mark  upon  the  old 
town,  with  which  Time  had  dealt  so  tenderly. 

The  lower  story  of  the  market-house  was  open 
on  all  four  of  its  sides  to  the  public  square.  War- 
wick passed  through  one  of  the  wide  brick  arches 
and  traversed  the  building  with  a  leisurely  step. 
He  looked  in  vain  into  the  stalls  for  the  butcher 
who  had  sold  fresh  meat  twice  a  week,  on  market 
days,  and  he  felt  a  genuine  thrill  of  pleasure  when 
he  recognized  the  red  bandana  turban  of  old 
Aunt  Lyddy,  the  ancient  negro  woman  who  had 
sold  him  gingerbread  and  fried  fish,  and  told  him 
weird  tales  of  witchcraft  and  conjuration,  in  the 
old  days  when,  as  an  idle  boy,  he  had  loafed  about 
the  market-house.  He  did  not  speak  to  her,  however, 
or  give  her  any  sign  of  recognition.  He  threw  a 
glance  toward  a  certain  corner  where  steps  led  to 
the  town  hall  above.  On  this  stairway  he  had 
once  seen  a  manacled  free  negro  shot  while  being 
taken  upstairs  for  examination  under  a  criminal 
charge.  Warwick  recalled  vividly  how  the  shot 
had  rung  out.  He  could  see  again  the  livid  look 
of  terror  on  the  victim's  face,  the  gathering  crowd, 
the  resulting  confusion.  The  murderer,  he  re- 
called, had  been  tried  and  sentenced  to  imprison- 
ment for  life,  but  was  pardoned   by  a   mercifid 


A  STRANGER  FROM  SOUTH  CAROLINA       5 

governor  after  serving  a  year  of  his  sentence.  As 
Warwick  was  neither  a  prophet  nor  the  son  of  a 
prophet,  he  could  not  foresee  that,  thirty  years 
later,  even  this  would  seem  an  excessive  punish- 
ment for  so  slight  a  misdemeanor. 

Leaving  the  market-house,  Warwick  turned  to 
the  left,  and  kept  on  his  course  until  he  reached 
the  next  corner.  After  another  turn  to  the  right, 
a  dozen  paces  brought  him  in  fi^ont  of  a  small 
weather-beaten  frame  building,  from  which  pro- 
jected a  wooden  sign-board  bearing  the  inscrip- 
tion :  — 

ARCHIBALD  STRAIGHT, 

LAWYER. 

He  turned  the  knob,  but  the  door  was  locked. 
Retracing  his  steps  past  a  vacant  lot,  the  young 
man  entered  a  shop  where  a  colored  man  was  em- 
ployed in  varnishing  a  cof&n,  which  stood  on  two 
trestles  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Not  at  all 
impressed  by  the  melancholy  suggestiveness  of  his 
task,  he  was  whistling  a  lively  air  wdth  great  gusto. 
Upon  Warwick's  entrance  this  effusion  came  to  a 
sudden  end,  and  the  coffin-maker  assmned  an  air 
of  professional  gravity. 

"  Good-mawnin',  suh,"  he  said,  lifting  his  cap 
politely. 

"  Good-morning,"  answered  Warwick.  "  Can 
you  tell  me  anything  about  Judge  Straight's  office 
hours  ?  " 

"De  ole  jedge  has  be'n  a  little  onreg'lar  sence 


6    THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

de  wall,  suh ;  but  he  gin'ally  gits  roun'  'bout  ten 
o'clock  er  so.  He  's  be'n  kin'  er  feeble  fer  de  las' 
few  yeahs.  An'  I  reckon,"  continued  the  under- 
taker solemnly,  his  glance  unconsciously  seeking  a 
row  of  fine  caskets  standing  against  the  wall,  —  "I 
reckon  he  '11  soon  be  goin'  de  way  er  all  de  earth. 
'  Man  dat  is  bawn  er  'oman  hath  but  a  sho't  time 
tcr  lib,  an'  is  full  er  mis'ry.  He  cometh  up  an'  is 
cut  down  lack  as  a  flower.'  '  De  days  er  his  life 
is  three-sco'  an'  ten '  —  an'  de  ole  jedge  is  libbed 
mo'  d'n  dat,  suh,  by  five  yeahs,  ter  say  de  leas'." 

"  '  Death,'  "  quoted  Warwick,  with  whose  mood 
the  undertaker's  remarks  were  in  tune,  " '  is  the 
penalty  that  all  must  pay  for  the  crime  of 
living.'  " 

"  Dat 's  a  fac',  suh,  dat 's  a  fac' ;  so  dey  mus'  — 
so  dey  mus'.  An'  den  all  de  dead  has  ter  be  buried. 
An'  we  does  ou'  sheer  of  it,  suh,  we  does  ou'  sheer. 
We  conduc's  de  obs'quies  er  all  de  bes'  w'ite  folks 
er  de  town,  suh." 

Warwick  left  the  undertaker's  shop  and  re- 
traced his  steps  until  he  had  passed  the  lawyer's 
office,  toward  which  he  threw  an  affectionate  glance. 
A  few  rods  farther  led  him  past  the  old  brick  Pres- 
byterian church,  with  its  square  tower,  embowered 
in  a  stately  grove ;  past  the  Catholic  church,  with 
its  many  crosses,  and  a  painted  wooden  figure  of 
St.  James  in  a  recess  beneath  the  gable ;  and  past 
the  old  Jefferson  House,  once  the  leading  hotel  of 
the  towTi,  in  front  of  which  political  meetings  had 
been  held,  and  political  speeches  made,  and  polit- 


A  STRANGER  FROM  SOUTH  CAROLINA       7 

ical  hard  cider  drunk,  in  the  days  of  "  Tippecanoe 
and  Tyler  too." 

The  street  do-svn  which  Warwick  had  come  in- 
tersected Front  Street  at  a  sharp  angle  in  front  of 
the  old  hotel,  forming  a  sort  of  flatiron  block  at 
the  junction,  known  as JLdberty^Point,  —  perhaps 
because  slave  auctions  were  sometimes  held  there  in 
the  good  old  da3's.  Just  before  Warwick  reached 
Liberty  Point,  a  young  woman  came  do^vn  Front 
Street  from  the  direction  of  the  market-house. 
When  their  paths  converged,  Warwick  kept  on 
down  Front  Street  behind  her,  it  having  been 
already  his  intention  to  walk  in  this  direction. 

Warwick's  first  glance  had  revealed  the  fact 
that  the  young  woman  was  strikingly  handsome, 
with  a  stately  beauty  seldom  encountered.  As  he 
walked  along  behind  her  at  a  measured  distance, 
he  could  not  help  noting  the  details  that  made 
up  this  pleasing  impression,  for  his  mind  was  sin- 
gularly alive  to  beauty,  in  whatever  embodiment. 
The  girl's  figure,  he  perceived,  was  admirably 
proportioned ;  she  was  evidently  at  the  period 
when  the  angles  of  childhood  were  rounding  into 
the  promising  curves  of  adolescence.  Her  abun- 
dant hair,  of  a  dark  and  glossy  brown,  was  neatly 
plaited  and  coiled  above  an  ivory  column  that  rose 
straight  from  a  pair  of  gently  sloping  shoulders, 
clearly  outlined  beneath  the  light  muslin  frock 
that  covered  them.  He  could  see  that  she  was 
tastefully,  though  not  richly,  dressed,  and  that  she 
walked  with  an  elastic  step  that  revealed  a  light 


8    THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

heart  and  the  vigor  of  perfect  health.  Her  face, 
of  course,  he  could  not  analyze,  since  he  had 
caught  only  the  one  brief  but  convincing  glimpse 
of  it.  • 

The  young  woman  kept  on  do\\'Ti  Front  Street, 
Warwick  maintaining  his  distance  a  few  rods 
behind  her.  They  passed  a  factory,  a  warehouse 
or  two,  and  then,  leaving  the  brick  pavement, 
walked  along  on  mother  earth,  under  a  leafy 
arcade  of  spreading  oaks  and  ehns.  Their  way 
led  now  through  a  residential  portion  of  the 
town,  which,  as  they  advanced,  gTadually  dechned 
from  staid  respectability  to  poverty,  open  and  un- 
abashed. Warwick  observed,  as  they  j^assed 
through  the  respectable  quarter,  that  few  people 
who  met  the  girl  greeted  her,  and  that  some  others 
whom  she  passed  at  gates  or  doorways  gave  her 
no  sign  of  recognition  ;  from  which  he  inferred 
that  she  was  possibly  a  visitor  in  the  town  and  not 
widely  acquainted. 

Their  walk  had  continued  not  more  than  ten 
minutes  when  they  crossed  a  creek  by  a  wooden 
bridge  and  came  to  a  row  of  mean  houses  standing 
flush  with  the  street.  At  the  door  of  one,  an  old 
black  woman  had  stooped  to  lift  a  large  basket, 
piled  high  with  laundered  clothes.  The  girl,  as 
she  passed,  seized  one  end  of  the  basket  and  helped 
the  old  woman  to  raise  it  to  her  head,  where  it 
rested  solidly  on  the  cushion  of  her  liead-kerchief. 
During  this  interlude,  Warwick,  though  he  had 
slackened    his    pace    measurably,   had    so   nearly 


A  STRAXGER  FROM   SOUTH  CAROLINA       9 

closed  the  gap  between  himself  and  them  as  to 
hear  the  old  woman  say,  with  the  dulcet  negro 
intonation :  — 

"  T'ank  y',  honey ;  de  Lawd  gwine  bless  you 
sho'.  You  wuz  alluz  a  good  gal,  and  de  Lawd 
love  everybody  w'at  he'p  de  po'  ole  nigger.  You 
gwine  ter  hab  good  luck  all  yo'  bawn  days." 

"  I  hope  you  're  a  true  prophet.  Aunt  Zilphy," 
laughed  the  girl  in  response. 

The  sound  of  her  voice  gave  Warwick  a  thriU. 
It  was  soft  and  sweet  and  clear  —  quite  in  har- 
mony with  her  appearance.  That  it  had  a  faint 
suggestiveness  of  the  old  woman's  accent  he 
hardly  noticed,  for  the  current  Southern  speech, 
.^  including  his  own,  was  rarely  without  a  touch  of  it. 
The  corruption  of  the  white  people's  speech  was 
one  element  —  only  one  —  of  the  negro's  uncon- 
scious revene:e  for  his  own  debasement. 

The  houses  they  passed  now  grew  scattering, 
and  the  quarter  of  the  town  more  neglected. 
Warwick  felt  himself  wondering  where  the  girl 
might  be  going  in  a  neighborhood  so  uninviting. 
When  she  stopped  to  pull  a  half-naked  negro 
child  out  of  a  mudhole  and  set  him  upon  his  feet, 
he  thought  she  might  be  some  young  lady  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  town,  bound  on  some  errand  of 
mercy,  or  going,  perhaps,  to  visit  an  old  servant  or 
look  for  a  new  one.  Once  she  threw  a  backward 
glance  at  Warwick,  thus  enabling  him  to  catch  a 
second  glimpse  of  a  singularly  pretty  face.  Per- 
haps the  young  woman  found  his  presence  in  the 


10        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

neighborhood  as  unaccountable  as  he  had  deemed 
hers ;  for,  finding  his  glance  fixed  upon  her,  she 
quickened  her  pace  with  an  air  of  startled  timid- 
ity. 

"  A  woman  with  such  a  figure,"  thought  War- 
wick, "  ought  to  be  able  to  face  the  world  with  the 
confidence  of  Phryne  confronting  her  judges." 

By  this  time  Warwick  was  conscious  that  some- 
thing more  than  mere  grace  or  beauty  had  at- 
tracted him  with  increasing  force  toward  this 
young  woman.  A  suggestion,  at  first  faint  and 
elusive,  of  something  famihar,  had  grown  stronger 
when  he  heard  her  voice,  and  became  more  and 
more  pronounced  with  each  rod  of  their  advance ;  ^ 
and  when  she  stopped  finally  before  a  gate,  and, 
opening  it,  went  into  a  yard  shut  off  from  the 
street  by  a  row  of  dwarf  cedars,  Warwick  had  al- 
ready discounted  in  some  measure  the  surprise  he 
would  have  felt  at  seeing  her  enter  there  had  he 
not  walked  down  Front  Street  behind  her.  There 
was  still  sufficient  unexpectedness  about  the  act, 
however,  to  give  him  a  decided  thrill  of  pleasure. 

"It  must  be  Rena,"  he  murmured.  "Who 
could  have  dreamed  that  she  would  blossom  into 
such  a  flower  ?     It  must  surely  be  Rena  !  " 

He  walked  slowly  past  the  gate  and  peered 
through  a  narrow  gap  in  the  cedar  hedge.  The 
girl  was  moving  along  a  sanded  walk,  toward  a 
gray,  unpainted  house,  with  a  steep  roof,  broken 
by  dormer  windows.    The  trace  of  timidity  he  had 


A  STRANGER  FROM   SOUTH   CAROLINA    11 

observed  in  her  had  given  place  to  the  more  assured 
bearing  of  one  who  is  upon  his  own  ground.  The 
garden  walks  were  bordered  by  long  rows  of  jon- 
quils, pinks,  and  carnations,  inclosing  clumj)s  of 
fragrant  shrubs,  lilies,  and  roses  already  in  bloom. 
Toward  the  middle  of  the  garden  stood  two  fine 
magnolia-trees,  with  heavy,  dark  green,  glistening 
leaves,  while  nearer  the  house  two  mighty  elms 
shaded  a  wide  piazza,  at  one  end  of  which  a  honey- 
suckle vine,  and  at  the  other  a  Virginia  creej)er, 
runnino'  over  a  wooden  lattice,  furnished  addi- 
tional  shade  and  seclusion.  On  dark  or  wintry 
days,  the  aspect  of  this  garden  must  have  been 
extremely  sombre  and  depressing,  and  it  might 
well  have  seemed  a  fit  place  to  hide  some  giiiltyor 
disgracefid  secret.  But  on  the  bright  morning 
when  Warwick  stood  looking  through  the  cedars, 
it  seemed,  wdth  its  green  frame  and  canopy  and  its 
bright  carpet  of  flowers,  an  ideal  retreat  from  the 
fierce  sunshine  and  the  sidtry  heat  of  the  approach- 


ing summer. 


The  girl  stooped  to  pluck  a  rose,  and  as  she 
bent  over  it,  her  profile  was  clearly  outlined.  She 
held  the  flow^er  to  her  face  with  a  long-drawn  in- 
halation, then  went  up  the  steps,  crossed  the  piazza, 
opened  the  door  without  knocking,  and  entered 
the  house  with  the  air  of  one  thoroughly  at  home. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man  to  himself,  "  it 's 
Rena,  sure  enough." 

The  house  stood  on  a  corner,  around  w^hich  the 
cedar  hedge  turned,  continuing  along  the  side  of 


12        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

the  garden  nntil  it  reached  the  line  of  the  front  of 
the  house.  The  piazza  to  a  rear  wing,  at  right 
angles  to  the  front  of  the  house,  was  open  to  inspec- 
tion from  the  side  street,  which,  to  judge  from  its 
deserted  look,  seemed  to  be  but  little  used.  Turn- 
ing into  this  street  and  walking  leisurely  past  the 
back  yard,  which  was  only  slightly  screened  from 
the  street  by  a  chin  a- tree,  Warwick  perceived  the 
young  woman  standing  on  the  j^iazza,  facing  an 
elderly  woman,  who  sat  in  a  large  rocking-chair, 
plying  a  pair  of  knitting-needles  on  a  half-finished 
stocking.  Warwick's  walk  led  him  within  three 
feet  of  the  side  gate,  which  he  felt  an  ahnost  irre- 
sistible impulse  to  enter.  Every  detail  of  the 
house  and  garden  was  familiar ;  a  thousand  cords 
of  memory  and  affection  drew  him  thither ;  but  a 
stronger  counter-motive  prevailed.  With  a  great 
effort  he  restrained  himself,  and  after  a  momentary 
pause,  walked  slowly  on  past  the  house,  with  a 
backward  glance,  which  he  turned  away  when  he 
saw  that  it  was  observed. 

Warwick's  attention  had  been  so  fully  absorbed 
by  the  house  behind  the  cedars  and  the  women 
there,  that  he  had  scarcely  noticed,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  neglected  by-street,  two  men  working 
by  a  large  open  window,  in  a  low,  rude  building 
with  a  clapboarded  roof,  directly  opposite  the  back 
piazza  occupied  by  the  two  women.  Both  the  men 
were  busily  engaged  in  shaping  barrel-staves,  each 
wielding  a  sharp-edged  drawing-knife  on  a  piece  of 
seasoned  oak  clasped  tightly  in  a  wooden  vise. 


A  STRANGER  FROM  SOUTH  CAROLINA    13 

"  I  jes'  wonder  who  dat  man  is,  an'  w'at  he  's 
doin'  on  dis  street,"  observed  the  younger  of  the 
two,  with  a  suspicious  air.  He  had  noticed  the 
gentleman's  involuntary  pause  and  his  interest  in 
the  opposite  house,  and  had  stopped  work  for  a 
moment  to  watch  the  stranger  as  he  went  on  down 
the  street. 

"  Nev'  min'  'bout  dat  man,"  said  the  elder  one. 
"  You  'ten'  ter  yo'  wuk  an'  finish  dat  bairl-stave. 
You  spen's  enti'ely  too  much  er  yo'  time  stretchin' 
yo'  neck  atter  other  people.  An'  you  need  n'  'sturb 
yo'se'f  'bout  dem  folks  'cross  de  street,  fer  dey 
ain't  yo'  kin',  an'  you  're  wastin'  yo'  time  both'in' 
yo'  min'  wid  'em,  er  wid  folks  w'at  comes  on  de 
street  on  account  of  'em.  Look  sha'p  now,  boy,  er 
you  '11  git  dat  stave  trim'  too  much." 

The  younger  man  resumed  his  work,  but  still 
found  time  to  throw  a  slanting  glance  out  of  the 
window.  The  gentleman,  he  perceived,  stood  for 
a  moment  on  the  rotting  bridge  across  the  old 
canal,  and  then  walked  slowly  ahead  until  he 
turned  to  the  right  into  Back  Street,  a  few  rods 
farther  on. 


n 

AN   EVENING   VISIT 

Toward  evening  of  the  same  day,  Warwick  took 
Ms  way  down  Front  Street  in  the  gathering  dusk. 
By  the  time  night  had  spread  its  mantle  over  the 
earth,  he  had  reached  the  gate  by  which  he  had 
seen  the  girl  of  his  morning  walk  enter  the  cedar- 
bordered  garden.  He  stopped  at  the  gate  and 
glanced  toward  the  house,  which  seemed  dark  and 
silent  and  deserted. 

"  It 's  more  than  likely,"  he  thought,  "  that  they 
are  in  the  kitchen.  I  reckon  I  'd  better  try  the 
back  door." 

But  as  he  drew  cautiously  near  the  corner,  he 
saw  a  man's  figure  outlined  in  the  yellow  light 
streaming  from  the  open  door  of  a  small  house  be- 
tween Front  Street  and  the  cooper  shop.  Wish- 
ing, for  reasons  of  his  own,  to  avoid  observation, 
Warwick  did  not  turn  the  corner,  but  walked  on 
down  Front  Street  until  he  reached  a  point  from 
which  he  coidd  see,  at  a  long  angle,  a  ray  of  light 
proceeding  from  the  kitchen  window  of  the  house 
behind  the  cedars. 

"  They  are  there,"  he  muttered  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  for  he  had  feared  they  might  be  away.  "  I 
suspect  I  '11  have  to  go  to  the  front  door,  after  all. 
No  one  can  see  me  through  the  trees." 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  15 

He  retraced  his  steps  to  the  front  gate,  which 
he  essayed  to  open.  There  was  apparently  some 
defect  in  the  latch,  for  it  refused  to  work.  War- 
wick remembered  the  trick,  and  with  a  slight  sense 
of  amusement,  pushed  his  foot  under  the  gate  and 
gave  it  a  hitch  to  the  left,  after  which  it  opened 
readily  enough.  He  walked  softly  up  the  sanded 
path,  tiptoed  up  the  steps  and  across  the  piazza, 
and  rapped  at  the  front  door,  not  too  loudly,  lest 
this  too  mio'ht  attract  the  attention  of  the  man 
across  the  street.  There  was  no  response  to  his 
rap.  He  put  his  ear  to  the  door  and  heard  voices 
within,  and  the  muffled  sound  of  footsteps.  After 
a  moment  he  rapped  again,  a  little  louder  than 
before. 

There  was  an  instant  cessation  of  the  sounds 
within.  He  rapped  a  third  time,  to  satisfy  any 
lingering  doubt  in  the  minds  of  those  who  he  felt 
sure  were  listening  in  some  trepidation.  A  mo- 
ment later  a  ray  of  light  streamed  through  the 
keyhole. 

"Who's  there?"  a  woman's  voice  inquired 
somewhat  sharply. 

"  A  gentleman,"  answered  Warwick,  not  hold- 
ing it  yet  time  to  reveal  himself.  "  Does  Mis' 
MoUy  Walden  live  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  guarded  answer.  "  I  'm  Mis' 
Walden.     What 's  yo'r  business  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  message  to  you  from  your  son 
John." 

A  key  clicked  in  the  lock.     The  door  opened, 


16         THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

and  the  elder  of  the  two  women  Warwick  had 
seen  upon  the  piazza  stood  in  the  doorway,  peering 
curiously  and  with  signs  of  great  excitement  into 
the  face  of  the  stranger. 

"  You  've  got  a  message  from  my  son,  you  say  ?  " 
she  asked  with  tremulous  agitation.  "  Is  he  sick, 
or  in  trouble  ?  " 

"  No.  He 's  well  and  doing  well,  and  sends 
his  love  to  you,  and  hopes  you  've  not  forgotten 
him." 

"  Fergot  him  ?  No,  God  knows  I  ain't  f ergot 
him !  But  come  in,  sir,  an'  tell  me  somethin' 
mo'  about  him." 

Warwick  went  in,  and  as  the  woman  closed  the 
door  after  him,  he  threw  a  glance  round  the  room. 
On  the  wall,  over  the  mantelpiece,  hung  a  steel 
eno^ravino-  of  General  Jackson  at  the  battle  of 
New  Orleans,  and,  on  the  opposite  wall,  a  framed 
fashion-plate  from  "  Godey's  Lady's  Book."  In 
the  middle  of  the  room  an  octagonal  centre-table 
with  a  single  leg,  terminating  in  three  sprawling 
feet,  held  a  collection  of  curiously  shaped  sea-shells. 
There  was  a  great  haircloth  sofa,  somewhat  the 
worse  for  wear,  and  a  well-filled  bookcase.  The 
screen  standing  before  the  fire23lace  was  covered 
with  Confederate  bank-notes  of  various  denomi- 
nations and  designs,  in  which  the  heads  of  Jeffer- 
son Davis  and  other  Confederate  leaders  were 
conspicuous. 

"  Imperious  Cfesar,  dead,  and  turned  to  clay, 
Might  stop  a  hole  to  keep  the  wind  away," 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  17 

murmured  the  joung  man,  as  Ms  eye  fell  upon  this 
specimen  of  decorative  art. 

The  woman  showed  her  visitor  to  a  seat.  She 
then  sat  dowTi  facing  him  and  looked  at  him  closely. 
"  When  did  you  last  see  my  son  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  Ve  never  met  your  son,"  he  rejihed. 

Her  face  fell.  "Then  the  message  comes 
through  you  from  somebody  else  ?  " 

"No,  directly  from  your  son." 

She  scanned  his  face  with  a  puzzled  look.     This 
bearded  young  gentleman,  who  spoke  so  politely    • 
and  was    dressed    so  well,  surely  —  no,  it    could 
not  be!  and  yet  — 

Warwick  was  smiling  at  her  through  a  mist  of 
tears.  An  electric  spark  of  sympathy  flashed 
between  them.  They  rose  as  if  moved  by  one 
impulse,  and  were  clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 

"  John,  my  John  I     It  is  John  !  " 

"  Mother  —  my  dear  old  mother  !  " 

''I  did  n't  think,"  she  sobbed,  "that  I'd  ever 
see  you  again." 

He  smoothed  her  hair  and  kissed  her.  "And 
are  you  glad  to  see  me,  mother  ?  " 

"  Am  I  glad  to  see  you  ?  It 's  hke  the  dead 
comin'  to  life.  I  thought  I  'd  lost  you  forever, 
John,  my  son,  my  darhn'  boy!"  she  answered, 
hugging  him  strenuously. 

"  I  could  n't  live  without  seeing  you,  mother," 
he  said.  He  meant  it,  too,  or  thought  he  did, 
although  he  had  not  seen  her  for  ten  years. 

"  You  've   grown  so  taH,  Jolm,  and  are  such  a 


18         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

fine  gentleman  !  And  you  are  a  gentleman  now, 
John,  ain't  you  — ■-  sure  enough  ?  Nobody  knows 
the  old  story  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother j  I  've  taken  a  man's  chance  in 
life,  and  have  tried  to  make  the  most  of  it ;  and 
I  haven't  felt  under  any  obligation  to  spoil  it 
by  raking  up  old  stories  that  are  best  forgotten. 
There  are  the  dear  old  books  :  have  they  been 
read  since  I  went  away  ?  " 

"  No,  honey,  there  's  be'n  nobody  to  read  'em, 
excep'  E,ena,  an'  she  don't  take  to  books  quite  like 
you  did.  But  I  've  kep'  'em  dusted  clean,  an'  kep' 
the  moths  an'  the  bugs  out ;  for  I  hoped  you  'd 
come  back  some  day,  an'  knowed  you  'd  like  to  find 
'em  all  in  their  places,  jus'  like  you  left  'em." 

"  That 's  mighty  nice  of  you,  mother.  You 
could  have  done  no  more  if  vou  had  loved  them 
for  themselves.  But  where  is  Rena  ?  I  saw  her 
on  the  street  to-day,  but  she  did  n't  know  me  from 
Adam ;  nor  did  I  guess  it  was  she  until  she  opened 
the  gate  and  came  into  the  yard." 

"  I  've  be'n  so  glad  to  see  you  that  I  'd  f ergot  about 
her,"  answered  the  mother.     "  Rena,  oh,  Rena !  " 

The  girl  was  not  far  away  ;  she  had  been  stand- 
ing in  the  next  room,  listening  intently  to  every 
word  of  the  conversation,  and  only  kept  from 
coming  in  by  a  certain  constraint  that  made  a 
brother  whom  she  had  not  met  for  so  many  years 
seem  almost  as  much  a  stranger  as  if  he  had  not 
been  connected  with  her  by  any  tie. 

'•  Yes,  mamma,"  she  answered,  coming  forward. 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  19 

"  Rena,  child,  here  's  yo'r  brother  John,  who 's 
come  back  to  see  us.     Tell  'im  howdy." 

As  she  came  forward,  Warwick  rose,  put  his 
arm  around  her  waist,  drew  her  toward  him,  and 
kissed  her  affectionately,  to  her  evident  embarrass- 
ment. She  was  a  tall  girl,  but  he  towered  above 
her  in  quite  a  protecting  fashion ;  and  she  thought 
with  a  thrill  bow  fine  it  would  be  to  have  such  a 
brother  as  this  in  the  town  all  the  time.  How 
proud  she  would  be,  if  she  could  but  walk  up  the 
street  with  such  a  brother  by  her  side !  She 
could  then  hold  up  her  head  before  all  the  world, 
oblivious  to  the  glance  of  pity  or  contempt.  She 
felt  a  very  pronounced  respect  for  this  tall  gen- 
tleman who  held  her  blushing  face  between  his 
hands  and  looked  steadily  into  her  eyes. 

"  You  're  the  little  sister  I  used  to  read  stories 
to,  and  whom  I  promised  to  come  and  see  some 
day.  Do  you  remember  how  you  cried  when  I 
went  away?  " 

"  It  seems  but  yesterday,"  she  answered.  "  I  've 
still  got  the  dime  you  gave  me." 

He  kissed  her  again,  and  then  drew  her  down 
beside  him  on  the  sofa,  where  he  sat  enthroned 
between  the  two  loving  and  excited  women.  No 
king  could  have  received  more  sincere  or  delighted 
homage.  He  was  a  man,  come  into  a  household 
of  women,  —  a  man  of  whom  they  were  proud,  and 
to  whom  they  looked  up  with  fond  reverence. 
For  he  was  not  only  a  son,  —  a  brother  —  but  he 
represented  to  them  the  world  from  wliich  circum- 


20        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

stances  had  shut  them  out,  and  to  which  distance 
lent  even  more  than  its  usual  enchantment ;  and 
they  felt  nearer  to  this  far-off  world  because  of  the 
glory  which  Warwick  reflected  from  it. 

"  You  're  a  very  pretty  girl,"  said  Warwick, 
regarding  his  sister  thoughtfully.  "  I  followed 
you  down  Front  Street  this  morning,  and  scarcely 
took  my  eyes  off  you  all  the  way ;  and  yet  I 
didn't  know  you,  and  scarcely  saw  your  face. 
You  improve  on  acquaintance ;  to-night,  I  find  you 
handsomer  still." 

"  Now,  John,"  said  his  mother,  expostulating 
mildly,  "  you'll  spile  her,  if  you  don't  min'." 

The  girl  was  beaming  with  gratified  vanity. 
What  woman  woidd  not  find  such  praise  sweet 
from  almost  a^y  source,  and  how  much  more  so 
from  this  great  man,  who,  from  his  exalted  station 
in  the  world,  must  surely  know  the  things  whereof 
he  spoke !  She  believed  every  word  of  it ;  she 
knew  it  very  well  indeed,  but  wished  to  hear  it 
repeated  and  itemized  and  emphasized. 

"  No,  he  won't,  mamma,"  she  asserted,  "  for 
he  's  flattering  me.  He  talks  as  if  I  was  some 
rich  young  lady,  who  lives  on  the  Hill,."  —  the 
Hill  was  the  aristocratic  portion  of  the  town,  — 
"  instead  of  a  poor  "  — 

"  Instead  of  a  poor  young  girl,  who  has  the  hill 
to  climb,"  replied  her  brother,  smoothing  her  hair 
with  his  hand.  Her  hair  was  long  and  smooth 
and  glossy,  with  a  w^ave  like  the  ripple  of  a  sum- 
mer  breeze  upon  the  surface  of    still  water.     It 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  21 

was  the  girl's  great  pride,  and  had  been  sedu- 
lously cared  for.  "  What  lovely  hair  !  It  has 
just  the  wave  that  yours  lacks,  mother." 

"Yes,"  was  the  regretful  reply,  "I've  never 
be'n  able  to  git  that  wave  out.  But  her  hair 's 
be'n  took  good  care  of,  an'  there  ain't  nary  gal  in 
town  that 's  got  any  finer." 

"  Don't  worry  about  the  wave,  mother.  It 's 
just  the  fashionable  ripple,  and  becomes  her  im- 
mensely. I  think  my  little  Albert  favors  his 
Aunt  Rena  somewhat." 

"Your  little  Albert!"  they  cried.  "You've 
got  a  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied  calmly,  "  a  very  fine  baby 

boy." 

They  began  to  purr  in  proud  contentment  at 
this  information,  and  made  minute  inquiries  about 
the  age  and  weight  and  eyes  and  nose  and  other 
important  details  of  this  precious  infant.  They 
inquired  more  coldly  about  the  child's  mother, 
of  whom  they  spoke  with  greater  warmth  when 
they  learned  that  she  was  dead.  They  hung 
breathless  on  Warwick's  words  as  he  related 
briefly  the  story  of  his  life  since  he  had  left,  years 
before,  the  house  behind  the  cedars  —  how  with  a 
stout  heart  and  an  abounding  hope  he  had  gone 
out  into  a  seemingly  hostile  world,  and  made  for- 
tune stand  and  dehver.  His  story  had  for  the 
women  the  charm  of  an  escape  from  captivity, 
with  all  the  thrill  of  a  pirate's  tale.  With  the 
whole  world  before  him,  he  had  remained  in  the 


22        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

South,  the  land  of  his  fathers,  where,  he  con- 
ceived, he  had  an  inalienable  birthright.  By  some 
good  chance  he  had  escaped  military  service  in 
the  Confederate  army,  and,  in  default  of  older 
and  more  experienced  men,  had  undertaken,  during 
nV  the  rebellion,  the  management  of  a  large  estate, 

which  had  been  left  in  the  hands  of  women  and 
slaves.  He  had  filled  the  place  so  acceptably,  and 
employed  his  leisure  to  such  advantage,  that  at  the 
close  of  the  war  he  found  himself  —  he  was  mod- 
est enough  to  think,  too,  in  default  of  a  better 
\  man  —  the  husband  of  the  orphan  daughter  of  the 
gentleman  who  had  owned  the  plantation,  and  who 
jhad  lost  his  life  upon  the  battlefield.  Warwick's 
jwife  was  of  good  family,  and  in  a  more  settled 
condition  of  society  it  would  not  have  been  easy 
for  a  yomig  man  of  no  visible  antecedents  to  win 
her  hand.  A  year  or  two  later,  he  had  taken  the 
oath  of  allegiance,  and  had  been  admitted  to  the 
South  Carolina  bar.  Rich  in  his  wife's  right,  he 
had  been  able  to  practice  his  profession  upon  a 
high  plane,  without  the  worry  of  sordid  cares,  and 
with  marked  success  for  one  of  his  age. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  concluded,  "  that  I  have  got 
along  at  the  bar,  as  elsewhere,  owing  to  the  lack  of 
better  men.  Many  of  the  good  lawyers  were  killed 
in  the  war,  and  most  of  the  remainder  were  dis- 
qualified ;  while  I  had  the  advantage  of  being  alive, 
and  of  never  having  been  in  arms  against  the  gov- 
ernment. People  had  to  have  lawyers,  and  they 
gave  me  their  business  in  preference  to  the  carpet- 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  23 

baggers.     Fortune,  you  know,  favors  the  available 
man." 

His  mother  drank  in  witli  parted  lips  and  glis- 
tening eyes  tlie  story  of  bis  adventures  and  the 
record  of  bis  successes.  As  Rena  listened,  tbe 
narrow  walls  tbat  bemmed  ber  in  seemed  to  draw 
closer  and  closer,  as  tbougli  tbey  must  crash  ber. 
Her  brother  watched  her  keenly.  He  had  been 
talking  not  only  to  inform  the  women,  but  with 
a  deeper  purpose,  conceived  since  liis  morning 
walk,  and  deepened  as  he  had  followed,  during  his 
narrative,  the  changing  expression  of  Rena's  face 
and  noted  her  intense  interest  in  bis  story,  her 
pride  in  his  successes,  and  the  occasional  wistful 
look  tbat  indexed  her  seK-pity  so  completely. 

"  An'  I  s'pose  you  're  happy,  John?  "  asked  his 
mother. 

"  Well,  mother,  happiness  is  a  relative  term, 
and  depends,  I  imagine,  upon  how  nearly  we  think 
we  get  what  we  think  we  want.  I  have  had  my 
chance  and  have  n't  thrown  it  away,  and  I  suppose 
I  ought  to  be  happy.  But  then,  I  have  lost  my 
wife,  whom  I  loved  very  dearly,  and  who  loved  me 
just  as  much,  and  I  'm  troubled  about  my  child." 

"  Why?  "  they  demanded.  "  Is  there  anything 
tbe  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  He 's  well  enough,  as  babies 
go,  and  has  a  good  enough  nurse,  as  nurses  go. 
But  the  nurse  is  ignorant,  and  not  always  carefid. 
A  child  needs  some  woman  of  its  own  blood  to  love 
it  and  look  after  it  intelligently." 


24    THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

Mis'  Molly's  eyes  were  filled  with  tearful  yearn- 
ing. She  would  have  given  all  the  world  to  warm 
her  son's  child  upon  her  bosom ;  but  she  knew 
this  could  not  be. 

*'  Did  your  wife  leave  any  kin  ?  "  she  asked  with 
an  effort. 

"  No  near  kin ;  she  was  an  only  child." 

"  You  '11  be  gettin'  married  again,"  suggested 
his  mother. 

"  No,"  he  replied  ;   "  I  think  not." 

Warwick  was  still  reading  his  sister's  face,  and 
saw  the  spark  of  hope  that  gleamed  in  her  express- 
ive eye. 

"  If  I  had  some  relation  of  my  own  that  I  could 
take  into  the  house  with  me,"  he  said  reflectively, 
"  the  child  might  be  healthier  and  happier,  and  I 
should  be  much  more  at  ease  about  him." 

The  mother  looked  from  son  to  daughter  with  a 
dawning  apprehension  and  a  sudden  pallor.  When 
she  saw  the  yearning  in  Rena's  eyes,  she  tlu^ew  her- 
self at  her  son's  feet. 

"  Oh,  Jolm,"  she  cried  despairingly,  "  don't  take 
her  away  from  me !  Don't  take  her,  John,  darlin', 
for  it 'd  break  my  heart  to  lose  her !  " 

Rena's  arms  were  round  her  mother's  neck,  and 
Rena's  voice  was  sounding  in  her  ears.  "There, 
there,  mamma !  Never  mind !  I  won't  leave  you, 
mamma  —  dear  old  mamma !  Your  Rena  '11  stay 
with  you  always,  and  never,  never  leave  you." 

John  smoothed  his  mother's  hair  with  a  com- 
forting touch,  patted  her  withered  cheek    sooth- 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  25 

ingly,  lifted  her  tenderly  to  lier  place  by  liis  side, 
and  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"  You  love  your  children,  mother  ?  " 

"  They  're  all  I  've  got,"  she  sobbed,  "  an'  they 
cos'  me  all  I  had.  When  the  las'  one  's  gone,  I  '11 
want  to  go  too,  for  I  '11  be  all  alone  in  the  world. 
Don't  take  Rena,  John ;  for  if  you  do,  I  '11  never 
see  her  again,  an'  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  How 
would  you  like  to  lose  yo'r  one  child  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  mother,  we  '11  say  no  more  about 
it.  And  now  tell  me  all  about  yourself,  and  about 
the  neighbors,  and  how  you  got  thi'ough  the  war, 
and  who  's  dead  and  who  's  married  —  and  every- 
thing." 

The  change  of  subject  restored  in  some  de- 
gree Mis'  Molly's  equanimity,  and  with  returning 
calmness  came  a  sense  of  other  responsibilities. 

"  Good  gracious,  Rena  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  John  's  be'n  in  the  house  an  hour,  and  ain't  had 
nothin'  to  eat  yet !  Go  in  the  kitchen  an'  spread 
a  clean  tablecloth,  an'  git  out  that  'tater  pone,  an' 
a  pitcher  o'  that  las'  kag  o'  persimmon  beer,  an' 
let  John  take  a  bite  an'  a  sip." 

Warwick  smiled  at  the  mention  of  these  homely 
dainties.  "  I  thought  of  your  sweet-potato  pone 
at  the  hotel  to-day,  when  I  was  at  dinner,  and 
wondered  if  you  'd  have  some  in  the  house.  There 
was  never  any  hke  yours  ;  and  I  've  forgotten  the 
taste  of  persimmon  beer  entirely." 

Rena  left  the  room  to  carry  out  her  hospitable 
commission.     Warwick,  taking  advantage  of  her 


26         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

absence,  returned  after  a  wliile  to  the  former 
subject. 

*'  Of  course,  mother,"  he  said  cahnly,  "  I 
would  n't  think  of  taking  Rena  away  against  your 
wishes.  A  mother's  claim  upon  her  child  is  a  high 
and  holy  one.  Of  course  she  will  have  no  chance 
here,  where  our  story  is  known.  The  war  has 
wrought  gi'eat  changes,  has  put  the  bottom  rail  on 
top,  and  all  that  —  but  it  has  n't  wiped  that  out. 
Nothing:  but  death  can  remove  that  stain,  if  it  does 
not  follow  us  even  beyond  the  grave.  Here  she 
must  forever  be  —  nobody  !  With  me  she  might 
have  got  out  into  the  w^orld ;  with  her  beauty  she 
might  have  made  a  good  marriage  ;  and,  if  I  mis- 
take not,  she  has  sense  as  well  as  beauty." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  the  mother,  "  she 's  got  good 
sense.  She  ain't  as  quick  as  you  was,  an'  don't 
read  as  many  books,  but  she 's  keerfid  an'  pains- 
takin',  an'  always  tries  to  do  what 's  right.  She  's 
be'n  thinkin'  about  goin'  away  somewhere  an' 
tryin'  to  git  a  school  to  teach,  er  somethin',  sence 
the  Yankees  have  started  'em  everywhere  for  po' 
white  folks  an'  niggers  too.  But  I  don't  like  fer 
her  to  go  too  fur." 

"With  such  beauty  and  brains,"  continued 
Warwick,  "she  could  leave  this  town  and  make 
a  place  for  herself.  The  place  is  already  made. 
She  has  only  to  step  into  my  carriage  —  after  per- 
haps a  little  preparation  —  and  ride  up  the  hill 
which  I  have  had  to  chinb  so  painfully.  It  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  see  her  at  the  top. 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  27 

But  of  course  it  is  impossible  —  a  mere  idle  dream. 
Youi'  claim  comes  first ;  her  duty  chains  her 
here." 

"  It  would  be  so  lonely  without  her,"  murmured 
the  mother  weakly,  "  an'  I  love  her  so  —  my  las' 
one !  " 

"  No  doubt  —  no  doubt,"  retiu^ned  Warwick, 
with  a  sympathetic  sigh ;  "of  course  you  love  her. 
It 's  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a  moment.  It 's  a 
pity  that  she  could  n't  have  a  chance  here  —  but 
how  could  she  ?  I  had  thought  she  might  marry 
a  gentleman ;  but  I  dare  say  she  '11  do  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  her  friends  —  as  well  as  Mary  B.,  for 
instance,  who  married  —  Homer  Pettif oot,  did  you 
say  ?  Or  maj^be  Billy  Oxendine  might  do  for  her. 
As  long  as  she  has  never  kno\\Ti  any  better,  she  'U 
probably  be  as  well  satisfied  as  though  she  married 
a  rich  man,  and  lived  in  a  fine  house,  and  kept  a 
carriage  and  servants,  and  moved  with  the  best  in 
the  land." 

The  tortured  mother  could  endure  no  more. 
The  one  thing  she  desired  above  all  others  was  her 
daughter's  happiness.  Her  own  life  had  not  been 
governed  by  the  highest  standards,  but  about  her 
love  for  her  beautiful  daughter  there  was  no  taint 
of  selfishness.  The  life  her  son  had  described  had 
been  to  her  always  the  ideal  but  unattainable  life. 
Circumstances,  some  beyond  her  control,  and  others 
for  which  she  was  herself  in  a  measure  responsible, 
had  put  it  forever  and  inconceivably  beyond  her 
reach.     It  had  been   conquered  by  her   son.    It 


28         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

beckoned  to  her  daughter.  The  comparison  of  this 
free  and  noble  life  with  the  sordid  existence  of 
those  around  her  broke  down  the  last  barrier  of 
opposition. 

"  O  Lord !  "  she  moaned,  "  what  shall  I  do  with- 
out her  ?     It  '11  be  lonely,  John  —  so  lonely  !  " 

"  You  '11  have  your  home,  mother,"  said  War- 
wick tenderly,  accepting  the  implied  surrender. 
"  You  '11  have  your  friends  and  relatives,  and  the 
knowledge  that  your  children  are  happy.  I  '11  let 
you  hear  from  us  often,  and  no  doubt  you  can  see 
Rena  now  and  then.  But  you  must  let  her  go, 
mother,  —  it  would  be  a  sin  against  her  to  refuse." 

"  She  may  go,"  replied  the  mother  brokenly. 
"  I  '11  not  stand  in  her  way  —  I  've  got  sins  enough 
to  answer  for  already." 

Warwick  watched  her  pityingly.  He  had  stirred 
her  feelings  to  unwonted  depths,  and  his  sympathy 
went  out  to  her.  If  she  had  sinned,  she  had  been 
more  sinned  against  than  sinning,  and  it  was  not 
his  part  to  judge  her.  He  had  yielded  to  a  senti- 
mental weakness  in  deciding  upon  this  trip  to 
Patesville.  A  matter  of  business  had  brought  him 
within  a  day's  journey  of  the  town,  and  an  over- 
mastering impulse  had  compelled  him  to  seek  the 
mother  who  had  given  him  birth  and  the  old  town 
where  he  had  spent  the  earlier  years  of  his  life. 
No  one  would  have  acknowledged  sooner  than  he 
the  folly  of  this  visit.  Men  who  have  elected  to 
govern  their  lives  by  principles  of  abstract  right 
and  reason,  which  happen,  perhaps,  to  be  at  vari- 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  29 

ance  with  what  society  considers  equally  right  and 
reasonable,  should,  for  fear  of  complications,  be 
careful  about  descending  from  the  lofty  heights  of 
logic  to  the  common  level  of  impulse  and  affection. 
Many  years  before,  Warwick,  when  a  lad  of  eigh- 
teen, had  shaken  the  dust  of  the  town  from  his  feet, 
and  with  it,  he  fondly  thought,  the  blight  of  his 
inheritance,  and  had  achieved  elsewhere  a  worthy 
career.  But  during  all  these  years  of  absence  he 
had  cherished  a  tender  feeling  for  his  mother,  and 
now  asfain  found  himself  in  her  house,  amid  the 
familiar  surroundings  of  his  childhood.  His  visit 
had  brought  joy  to  his  mother's  heart,  and  was 
now  to  bring  its  shrouded  companion,  sorrow.  His 
mother  had  lived  her  life,  for  good  or  ill.  A  wdder 
door  was  open  to  his  sister  —  her  mother  must  not 
bar  the  entrance. 

"  She  may  go,"  the  mother  repeated  sadly,  dry- 
ing her  tears.     "  I  '11  give  her  up  for  her  good." 

"  The  table 's  ready,  mamma,"  said  Rena,  coming 
to  the  door. 

The  lunch  was  spread  in  the  kitchen,  a  large  un- 
plastered  room  at  the  rear,  with  a  wide  fireplace  at 
one  end.  Only  yesterday,  it  seemed  to  Warwick, 
he  had  sprawled  upon  the  hearth,  turning  sweet 
potatoes  before  the  fire,  or  roasting  groundpeas  in 
the  ashes ;  or,  more  often,  reading,  by  the  light  of 
a  blazing  pine-knot  or  lump  of  resin,  some  volume 
from  the  bookcase  in  the  hall.  From  Bulwer's 
novel,  he  had  read  the  story  of  Warwick  the 
Kingmaker,  and  upon  leaving  home  had  chosen  it 


30        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

for  his  own.  He  was  a  new  man,  but  he  had  the 
blood  of  an  old  race,  and  he  would  select  for  his 
own  one  of  its  worthy  names.  Overhead  loomed 
the  same  smoky  beams,  decorated  with  what  might 
have  been,  from  all  appearances,  the  same  bunches 
of  dried  herbs,  the  same  strings  of  onions  and  red 
peppers.  Over  in  the  same  corner  stood  the  same 
spinning-wheel,  and  through  the  open  door  of  an 
adjoining  room  he  saw  the  old  loom,  where  in 
childhood  he  had  more  than  once  thrown  the  shut- 
tle. The  kitchen  was  different  from  the  stately 
dining-room  of  the  old  colonial  mansion  where  he 
now  lived ;  but  it  was  homelike,  and  it  was  familiar. 
The  sight  of  it  moved  his  heart,  and  he  felt  for 
the  moment  a  sort  of  a  blind  anger  against  the 
fate  which  made  it  necessary  that  he  should  visit 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  if  at  all,  like  a  thief 
in  the  night.  But  he  realized,  after  a  moment, 
that  the  thought  was  pure  sentiment,  and  that  one 
who  had  gained  so  much  ought  not  to  complain  if 
he  must  give  up  a  little.  He  who  would  climb 
the  heights  of  life  must  leave  even  the  pleasantest 
valleys  behind. 

"  Rena,"  asked  her  mother,  "  how  'd  you  like  to 
go  an'  pay  yo'r  brother  John  a  visit  ?  I  guess  I 
might  spare  you  for  a  little  while." 

The  girl's  eyes  lighted  up.  She  would  not  have 
gone  if  her  mother  had  wished  her  to  stay,  but  she 
would  always  have  regarded  this  as  the  lost  oj^por- 
tunity  of  her  life. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  don't  care,  mamma  ?  "  she 
asked,  hoping  and  yet  doubting. 


AN  EVENING  VISIT  31 

"  Oh,  I  'U  manage  to  git  along  somehow  or  other. 
You  can  go  an'  stay  till  you  git  homesick,  an'  then 
John  '11  let  you  come  back  home." 

But  Mis'  Molly  believed  that  she  would  never 
come  back,  except,  like  her  brother,  under  cover  of 
the  night.  She  must  lose  her  daughter  as  well  as 
her  son,  and  this  should  be  the  penance  for  her  sin. 
That  her  children  must  expiate  as  well  the  sins  of 
their  fathers,  who  had  sinned  so  lightly,  after  the 
manner  of  men,  neither  she  nor  they  could  foresee, 
since  they  could  not  read  the  future. 

The  next  boat  by  which  Warwick  could  take  his 
sister  away  left  early  in  the  morning  of  the  next 
day  but  one.  He  went  back  to  his  hotel  with  the 
understanding  that  the  morrow  should  be  devoted 
to  getting  Rena  ready  for  her  departure,  and  that 
Warwick  would  visit  the  household  again  the  fol- 
lowing evening ;  for,  as  has  been  intimated,  there 
were  several  reasons  why  there  should  be  no  open 
relations  between  the  fine  gentleman  at  the  hotel 
and  the  women  in  the  house  behind  the  cedars,  who, 
while  superior  in  blood  and  breeding  to  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood  in  which  they  lived,  were  yet 
under  the  shadow  of  some  cloud  which  clearly  shut 
them  out  from  the  better  society  of  the  town.  Al- 
most any  resident  could  have  given  one  or  more  of 
these  reasons,  of  which  any  one  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  most  of  them;  and  to  some  of  them 
Warwick's  mere  presence  in  the  town  would  have 
seemed  a  bold  and  daring  thing. 


in 

THE   OLD   JUDGE 

On  the  morning  following  the  visit  to  his 
mother,  Warwick  visited  the  old  judge's  office. 
The  judge  was  not  in,  but  the  door  stood  open, 
and  Warwick  entered  to  await  his  return.  There 
had  been  fewer  changes  in  the  office,  where  he  had 
spent  many,  many  hours,  than  in  the  town  itself. 
The  dust  was  a  little  thicker,  the  papers  in  the 
pigeon-holes  of  the  walnut  desk  were  a  little  yel- 
lower, the  cobwebs  in  the  corners  a  little  more 
aggressive.  The  flies  droned  as  drowsily  and  the 
murmur  of  the  brook  below  was  just  as  audible. 
Warwick  stood  at  the  rear  window  and  looked  out 
over  a  familiar  view.  Directly  across  the  creek,  on 
the  low  ground  beyond,  might  be  seen  the  dilapi- 
dated stone  foundation  of  the  house  where  once 
had  lived  Flora  Macdonald,  the  Jacobite  refugee, 
the  most  romantic  character  of  North  Carolina 
history.  Old  Judge  Straight  had  had  a  tree  cut 
away  from  the  creek-side  opposite  his  window,  so 
that  this  historic  ruin  might  be  visible  from  his 
office ;  for  the  judge  could  trace  the  ties  of  blood 
that  connected  him  collaterally  with  this  famous 
personage.     His  pamphlet  on    Flora  Macdonald, 


THE  OLD  JUDGE  33 

printed  for  private  circulation,  was  tigUy  prized 
by  those  of  his  friends  who  were  fortunate  enough 
to  obtain  a  copy.  To  the  left  of  the  window  a 
placid  mill-pond  spread  its  wide  expanse,  and  to 
the  right  the  creek  disappeared  under  a  canopy  of 
overhano^ino^  trees. 

A  footstep  sounded  in  the  doorway,  and  War- 
wick, turning,  faced  the  old  judge.  Time  had  left 
greater  marks  uj)on  the  lawyer  than  upon  his  office. 
His  hair  was  whiter,  his  stoop  more  pronounced ; 
when  he  spoke  to  War^dck,  his  voice  had  some  of 
the  shrillness  of  old  age ;  and  in  his  hand,  upon 
w^liich  the  veins  stood  out  prominently,  a  decided 
tremor  was  perceptible. 

"  Good  -  morning.  Judge  Straight,"  said  the 
young  man,  removing  his  hat  with  the  graceful 
Southern  deference  of  the  young  for  the  old. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  replied  the  judge  with 
equal  courtesy. 

"  You  don't  remember  me,  I  imagine,"  sug- 
gested Warwick. 

"  Your  face  seems  familiar,"  returned  the  judge 
cautiously,  "  but  I  cannot  for  the  moment  recall 
your  name.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  refresh 
my  memory." 

"  I  was  Jolin  Walden,  sir,  when  you  knew 
me." 

The  judge's  face  still  gave  no  answering  light 
of  recognition. 

"Your  old  office-boy,"  continued  the  younger 
man. 


34        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

"  All,  indeed,  so  you  were  !  "  rejoined  the  judge 
warmly,  extending  his  hand  with  great  cordiality, 
and  inspecting  Warwick  more  closely  through  liis 
spectacles.  "  Let  me  see  —  you  went  away  a  few 
years  before  the  war,  was  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  to  South  Carolina." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  now !  I  had  been 
thinking  it  was  to  the  North.  So  many  things 
have  happened  since  then,  that  it  taxes  an  old 
man's  memory  to  keep  track  of  them  all.  Well, 
well !  and  how  have  you  been  getting  along?  " 

Warwick  told  his  story  in  outline,  much  as  he 
had  given  it  to  his  mother  and  sister,  and  the 
judge  seemed  very  much  interested. 

"  And  you  married  into  a  good  family  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  have  children  ?  " 

"  One." 

"  And  you  are  visiting  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.  I  have  seen  her,  but  I  am 
stopping  at  a  hotel." 

"  H'm !     Are  you  staying  long  ?  " 

"  I  leave  to-morrow." 

"  It 's  well  enough.  I  would  n't  stay  too  long. 
The  people  of  a  small  town  are  inquisitive  about 
strangers,  and  some  of  them  have  long  memories. 
I  remember  we  went  over  the  law,  which  was  in 
your  favor  ;  but  custom  is  stronger  than  law  —  in 
these  matters  custom  is  law.  It  was  a  great  pity 
that  your  father  did  not  make  a  wiU.     Well,  my 


THE  OLD  JUDGE  35 

boy,  I  wish  you  continued  good  luck ;   I  imagined 
you  would  make  your  way." 

Warwick  went  away,  and  the  old  judge  sat  for 
a  moment  absorbed  in  reflection.  "  Right  and 
wrong,"  he  mused,  "  must  be  eternal  verities,  but 
our  standards  for  measurmg  them  vary  with  our 
latitude  and  our  epoch.  We  make  our  customs 
lightly  ;  once  made,  like  our  sins,  they  grip  us  in 
bands  of  steel ;  we  become  the  creatures  of  our 
creations.  By  one  standard  my  old  office-boy 
should  never  have  been  born.  Yet  he  is  a  son  of 
Adam,  and  came  into  existence  in  the  way  or- 
dained by  God  from  the  beginning  of  the  world. 
In  equity  he  w^ould  seem  to  be  entitled  to  his 
chance  in  life ;  it  might  have  been  wiser,  though, 
for  him  to  seek  it  farther  afield  than  South  Caro- 
lina. It  was  too  near  home,  even  though  the  laws 
were  with  him." 


lY 

DOWN   THE   RIVER 

Neither  mother  nor  daughter  slept  a  great 
deal  during  the  night  of  Warwick's  first  visit. 
Mis'  Molly  anointed  her  sacrifice  with  tears  and 
cried  herself  to  sleep.  Rena's  emotions  were  more 
conflicting ;  she  was  sorry  to  leave  her  mother,  but 
glad  to  go  with  her  brother.  The  mere  journey 
she  was  about  to  make  was  a  great  event  for  the 
two  women  to  contemplate,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
golden  vision  that  lay  beyond,  for  neither  of  them 
had  ever  been  out  of  the  town  or  its  vicinity. 

The  next  day  was  devoted  to  preparations  for 
the  journey.  Rena's  slender  wardrobe  was  made 
ready  and  packed  in  a  large  valise.  Towards  sun- 
set, Mis'  Molly  took  off  her  apron,  put  on  her 
slat-bonnet,  —  she  was  ever  the  pink  of  neatness, 
—  picked  her  way  across  the  street,  which  was 
muddy  from  a  rain  during  the  day,  traversed  the 
foot-bridge  that  spanned  the  ditch  in  front  of  the 
cooper  shop,  and  spoke  fii'st  to  the  elder  of  the  two 
men  working  there. 

"  Good-evenin',  Peter." 

"  Good-evenin',  ma'm,"  responded  the  man 
briefly,  and  not  relaxing  at  all  the  energy  with 
which  he  was  trimming  a  barrel-stave. 


DOWN  THE  RIVER  37 

Mis'  Molly  then  accosted  the  younger  workman, 
a  dark-brown  young  man,  small  in  stature,  but 
with  a  well-shaped  head,  an  expressive  forehead, 
and  features  indicative  of  kindness,  intelligence, 
him^or,  and  imagination.  "  Frank,"  she  asked, 
"  can  I  git  you  to  do  somethin'  fer  me  soon  in  the 
mo  nm  r 

"  Yas  'm,  I  reckon  so,"  replied  the  yoimg  man, 
resting  his  hatchet  on  the  chopping-block.  "Wat 
is  it.  Mis'  MoUy?" 

"  My  daughter  's  gom'  away  on  the  boat,  an'  I 
'lowed  you  would  n'  min'  totin'  her  kyarpet-bag 
down  to  the  w'arf ,  onless  you  'd  ruther  haul  it  dowTi 
on  yo'r  kyart.  It  ain't  very  heavy.  Of  co'se  I  '11 
pay  you  fer  yo'r  trouble." 

"  Thank  y',  ma'm,"  he  replied.  He  knew  that 
she  would  not  pay  him,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  would  not  accept  pay  for  such  a  service.  "  Is 
she  gwine  fur  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  sorrowfid  look, 
which  he  could  not  entirely  disguise. 

"  As  fur  as  Wihnin'ton  an'  beyon'.  She  'U  be 
visitin'  her  brother  John,  who  lives  in  —  another 
State,  an'  wants  her  to  come  an'  see  him." 

"  Yas  'm,  I  '11  come.  I  won'  need  de  kyart  — 
I  '11  tote  de  basr.     'Bout  w'at  time  shill  I  come 


over 


?" 


WeU,  'long  'bout  seven  o'clock  or  half  pas'. 
She  's  goin'  on  the  Old  North  State,  an'  it  leaves 
at  eight." 

Frank  stood  looking  after  Mis'  Molly  as   she 
picked  her  way  across  the    street,  until    he  was 


38        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

recalled  to  his  duty  by  a  sharp  word  from  his 
father. 

"  'Ten'  ter  yo'  wuk,  boy,  'ten'  ter  yo'  wuk.  You 
're  wastin'  yo'  time  —  wastin'  yo'  time  !  " 

Yes,  he  was  wasting  his  time.  The  beautiful 
young  girl  across  the  street  could  never  be  any- 
thing to  him.  But  he  had  saved  her  life  once, 
and  had  dreamed  that  he  might  render  her  again 
some  signal  service  that  might  win  her  friendship, 
and  convince  her  of  his  humble  devotion.  For 
Frank  was  not  proud.  A  smile,  which  Peter 
would  have  regarded  as  condescending  to  a  free 
man,  who,  since  the  war,  was  as  good  as  anybody 
else  ;  a  kind  word,  which  Peter  would  have  con- 
sidered offensively  patronizing ;  a  piece  of  Mis' 
Molly's  famous  potato  pone  from  Rena's  hands, 
—  a  bone  to  a  dog,  Peter  called  it  once ;  —  were 
ample  rewards  for  the  thousand  and  one  small 
services  Frank  had  rendered  the  two  women  who 
lived  in  the  house  behind  the  cedars. 

Frank  went  over  in  the  morning  a  little  ahead 
of  the  appointed  time,  and  waited  on  the  back 
piazza  until  his  services  were  required. 

"  You  ain't  gwine  ter  be  gone  long,  is  you.  Miss 
Rena?  "  he  inquired,  when  Rena  came  out  dressed 
for  the  journey  in  her  best  frock,  with  broad  white 
collar  and  cuffs. 

Rena  did  not  know.  She  had  been  asking  her- 
self the  same  question.  All  sorts  of  vague  dreams 
had  floated  through  her  mind  during  the  last  few 


DOWN  THE  RIVER  39 

hours,  as  to  what  the  future  might  bring  forth. 
But  she  detected  the  anxious  note  in  Frank's  voice, 
and  had  no  wish  to  give  this  faithful  friend  of  the 
family  unnecessary  pain. 

"  Oh,  no,  Frank,  I  reckon  not.  I  'm  supposed 
to  be  just  going  on  a  short  visit.  My  brother 
has  lost  his  wife,  and  wishes  me  to  come  and  stay 
with  him  awhile,  and  look  after  his  little  boy." 

"  I  'm  feared  you  '11  lack  it  better  dere.  Miss 
Kena,"  replied  Frank  sorrowfully,  di^opping  liis 
mask  of  unconcern,  "  an'  den  you  won't  come 
back,  an'  none  er  yo'  frien's  won't  never  see  you 
no  mo'." 

"  You  don't  think,  Frank,"  asked  Rena  severely, 
"  that  I  would  leave  my  mother  and  my  home  and 
all  my  friends,  and  never  come  back  again  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  'ndeed,"  interposed  Mis'  Molly  wist- 
fidly,  as  she  hovered  around  her  daughter,  giving 
her  hair  or  her  gown  a  touch  here  and  there  ; 
"  she  '11  be  so  homesick  in  a  month  that  she  'U  be 
wiUin'  to  walk  home." 

"  You  would  n'  never  hafter  do  dat.  Miss  Rena," 
returned  Frank,  with  a  disconsolate  smile.  "  Ef 
you  ever  wanter  come  home,  an'  can't  git  back  no 
other  way,  jes'  let  me  know,  an'  I  '11  take  my  mule 
an'  my  kyart  an'  fetch  you  back,  ef  it 's  from  de 
een'  er  de  worl'." 

"  Thank  you,  Frank,  I  believe  you  woidd,"  said 
the  girl  kindly.  "  You  're  a  true  friend,  Frank, 
and  I  '11  not  forget  you  while  I  'm  gone." 

The  idea  of  her  beautiful  daughter  riding  home 


40        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

from  the  end  of  the  world  with  Frank,  in  a  cart, 
behind  a  one-eyed  mule,  struck  Mis'  Molly  as  the 
height  of  the  ridiculous  —  she  was  in  a  state  of 
excitement  where  tears  or  laughter  would  have 
come  with  equal  ease  —  and  she  turned  away  to 
hide  her  merriment.  Her  daughter  was  going  to 
live  in  a  fine  house,  and  marry  a  rich  man,  and 
ride  in  her  carriage.  Of  course  a  negro  would 
drive  the  carriage,  but  that  was  different  from 
riding  with  one  in  a  cart. 

When  it  was  time  to  go,  Mis'  Molly  and  Rena 
set  out  on  foot  for  the  river,  which  was  only  a 
short  distance  away.  Frank  followed  with  the 
valise.  There  was  no  gathering  of  friends  to  see 
Rena  off,  as  might  have  been  the  case  under  dif- 
ferent circumstances.  Her  departure  had  some  of 
the  characteristics  of  a  secret  flight ;  it  was  as  im23or- 
tant  that  her  destination  should  not  be  known,  as 
it  had  been  that  her  brother  should  conceal  his 
presence  in  the  town. 

Mis'  Molly  and  Rena  remained  on  the  bank  until 
the  steamer  announced,  with  a  raucous  whistle, 
its  readiness  to  depart.  Warwick  was  seen  for  a 
moment  on  the  upper  deck,  from  which  he  greeted 
them  with  a  smile  and  a  sHght  nod.  He  had  bid- 
den his  mother  an  affectionate  farewell  the  even- 
ing before.     Rena  gave  her  hand  to  Frank. 

''  Good-by,  Frank,"  she  said,  with  a  kind  smile ; 
"  I  hope  you  and  mamma  will  be  good  friends 
while  I  'm  gone." 

The  whistle  blew  a  second  warning  blast,  and 


DOWN  THE  RIYER  41 

tlie  deck  hands  prepared  to  draw  in  the  gang- 
plank. Eena  flew  mto  her  mother's  arms,  and 
then,  breaking  away,  hurried  on  board  and  retired 
to  her  state-room,  from  which  she  did  not  emerge 
during  the  journey.  The  mndow-blinds  were 
closed,  darkening  the  room,  and  the  stewardess 
who  came  to  ask  if  she  should  bring  her  some  din- 
ner could  not  see  her  face  distinctly,  but  perceived 
enough  to  make  her  surmise  that  the  young  lady 
had  been  weejjing. 

"  Po'  chile,"  murmured  the  sympathetic  col- 
ored woman,  "  I  reckon  some  er  her  folks  is  dead, 
er  her  sweetheart 's  gone  back  on  her,  er  e'se  she 's 
had  some  kin'  er  bad  luck  er  'nuther.  Wite  folks 
has  deir  troubles  jes'  ez  well  ez  black  folks,  an' 
sometimes  feels  'em  mo',  'cause  dey  ain't  ez  use' 
ter  'em." 

Mis'  Molly  went  back  in  sadness  to  the  lonely 
house  behind  the  cedars,  henceforth  to  be  peopled 
for  her  with  only  the  memory  of  those  she  had 
loved.  She  had  paid  mth  her  heart's  blood  an- 
other installment  on  the  Shylock's  bond  exacted 
by  society  for  her  own  happiness  of  the  past  and 
her  children's  prospects  for  the  future. 

The  journey  down  the  sluggish  river  to  the  sea* 
board  in  the  flat-bottomed,  stern-wheel  steamer 
lasted  all  day  and  most  of  the  night.  During  the 
first  haK-day,  the  boat  gTomided  now  and  then 
upon  a  sand-bank,  and  the  haK-naked  negro  deck- 
hands toiled  with  ropes  and  poles  to  release  it. 
Several  times  before  Rena  fell  asleep  that  night, 


42         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

the  steamer  would  tie  up  at  a  landing,  and  by  the 
light  of  huge  pine  torches  she  watched  the  boat 
hands  send  the  yellow  turpentine  barrels  down  the 
steep  bank  in  a  long  string,  or  pass  cord-wood  on 
board  from  hand  to  hand.  The  excited  negroes, 
their  white  teeth  and  eyeballs  glistening  in  the 
surrounding  darkness  to  which  their  faces  formed 
no  relief  ;  the  white  officers  in  brown  hnen,  shout- 
ing, swearing,  and  gesticulating ;  the  yellow,  flick- 
ering torchlight  over  all,  —  made  up  a  scene  of 
which  the  weird  interest  would  have  appealed  to  a 
more  hlase  traveler  than  this  girl  upon  her  first 
journey. 

During  the  day,  Warwick  had  taken  his  meals 
in  the  dining-room,  with  the  captain  and  the  other 
cabin  passengers.  It  was  learned  that  he  was  a 
South  Carolina  lawyer,  and  not  a  carpet-bagger. 
Such  credentials  were  unimpeachable,  and  the 
passengers  foimd  him  a  very  agreeable  traveling 
companion.  Apparently  sound  on  the  subject  of 
negroes,  Yankees,  and  the  righteousness  of  the 
lost  cause,  he  yet  discussed  these  themes  in  a  lofty 
and  impersonal  manner  that  gave  his  words  greater 
weight  than  if  he  had  seemed  warped  by  a  per- 
sonal grievance.  His  attitude,  in  fact,  piqued  the 
curiosity  of  one  or  two  of  the  passengers. 

"  Did  your  people  lose  any  niggers  ?  "  asked 
one  of  them. 

"  My  father  owned  a  hundred,"  he  replied 
grandly. 

Their  respect  for  his  views  was  doubled.     It  is 


DOWN  THE  RIVER  43 

easy  to  moralize  about  the  misfortunes  of  others, 
and  to  find  good  in  the  evil  that  they  suffer  ;  — 
only  a  true  philosopher  could  speak  thus  lightly  of 
his  OTVTi  losses. 

When  the  steamer  tied  up  at  the  wharf  at  Wil- 
mington, in  the  early  morning,  the  young  lawyer 
and  a  veiled  lady  passenger  drove  in  the  same 
carriage  to  a  hotel.  After  they  had  breakfasted 
in  a  private  room,  Warwick  explained  to  his  sister 
the  plan  he  had  formed  for  her  future.  Hence- 
forth she  must  be  known  as  Miss  Warwick,  drop- 
ping the  old  name  with  the  old  life.  He  woidd 
place  her  for  a  year  in  a  boarding-school  at 
Charleston,  after  which  she  would  take  her  place 
as  the  mistress  of  his  house.  Having  imparted 
this  information,  he  took  his  sister  for  a  drive 
through  the  town.  There  for  the  first  time  Rena 
saw  great  ships,  which,  her  brother  told  her,  sailed 
across  the  mighty  ocean  to  distant  lands,  whose 
flags  he  pointed  out  drooping  lazily  at  the  mast- 
heads. The  business  portion  of  the  town  had  "  an 
ancient  and  fislilike  smell,"  and  most  of  the  trade 
seemed  to  be  in  cotton  and  naval  stores  and  pro- 
ducts of  the  sea.  The  wharves  were  piled  high 
with  cotton  bales,  and  there  were  acres  of  barrels 
of  resin  and  pitch  and  tar  and  spirits  of  turpen- 
tine. The  market,  a  long,  low,  wooden  structure, 
in  the  middle  of  the  principal  street,  was  filled 
with  a  mass  of  people  of  all  shades,  from  blue- 
black  to  Saxon  blonde,  gabbling  and  gesticulating 
over  piles  of  oysters  and  clams  and  freshly  caught 


44        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

fisli  of  varied  hue.  By  ten  o'clock  the  sun  was 
beating  clown  so  fiercely  that  the  glitter  of  the 
white,  sandy  streets  dazzled  and  pained  the  eyes 
unaccustomed  to  it,  and  Rena  was  glad  to  be 
driven  back  to  the  hotel.  The  travelers  left  to- 
gether on  an  early  afternoon  train. 

Thus  for  the  time  being  was  severed  the  last  tie 
that  bound  Rena  to  her  narrow  past,  and  for  some 
time  to  come  the  places  and  the  j)eople  who  had 
known  her  once  were  to  know  her  no  more. 

Some  few  weeks  later,  Mis'  MoUy  called  upon 
old  Judge  Straight  Tvdth  reference  to  the  taxes  on 
her  property. 

"  Your  son  came  in  to  see  me  the  other*  day," 
he  remarked.     "  He  seems  to  have  got  along." 

"  Oh,  yes,  judge,  he  's  done  fine,  John  has ;  an' 
he 's  took  his  sister  away  with  him." 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  judge.  Then  after  a 
pause  he  added,  "  I  hope  she  may  do  as  well." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a  curtsy,  as 
she  rose  to  go.  "  We  've  always  knowed  that  you 
were  our  friend  and  wished  us  well."    . 

The  judge  looked  after  her  as  she  walked  away. 
Her  bearing  had  a  touch  of  timidity,  a  shade  of 
affectation,  and  yet  a  certain  pathetic  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  murmured,  with  a  sigh,  "  that 
men  cannot  select  their  mothers.  My  young  friend 
John  has  builded,  whether  wisely  or  not,  very 
well ;  but  he  has  come  back  into  the  old  life  and 
carried  away  a  part  of  it,  and  I  fear  that  this 
addition  will  weaken  the  structure." 


-t 


THE   TOURNAMENT 

The  annual  tournament  of  the  Clarence  So- 
cial Club  was  about  to  begin.  The  coimty  fair- 
ground, where  all  was  in  readiness,  sparkled  with 
the  youth  and  beauty  of  the  town,  standing  here 
and  there  under  the  trees  in  animated  groups,  or 
moving  toward  the  seats  from  which  the  pageant 
might  be  witnessed.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the 
race  track,  to  right  and  left  of  the  judges'  stand, 
had  been  laid  off  for  the  lists.  Opposite  tlie 
grand  stand,  which  occupied  a  considerable  part 
of  this  distance,  a  dozen  uprights  had  been  erected 
at  measured  intervals.  Projecting  several  feet 
over  the  track  from  each  of  these  uprights  was  an 
iron  crossbar,  from  which  an  iron  hook  depended. 
Between  the  uprights  stout  posts  were  planted, 
of  such  a  height  that  their  tops  could  be  easily 
reached  by  a  swinging  sword-cut  from  a  mounted 
rider  passing  upon  the  track.  The  influence  of 
Walter  Scott  was  strong  vipon  the  old  South. 
The  South  before  the  war  was  essentially  feudal, 
and  Scott's  novels  of  chivalry  appealed  forcefully 
to  the  feudal  heart.  During  the  month  preceding 
the  Clarence  tournament,  the  local  bookseller  had 


f 


46     '     THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

closed  out  his  entire  stock  of  "  Ivanhoe,"  consist- 
ing of  five  copies,  and  had  taken  orders  for  seven 
copies  more.  The  tournament  scene  in  this  popu- 
lar novel  furnished  the  model  after  which  these 
bloodless  imitations  of  the  ancient  passages-at- 
arms  were  conducted,  wdth  such  variations  as  were 
required  to  adapt  them  to  a  different  age  and 
civilization. 

The  best  people  gradually  filled  the  grand 
stand,  while  the  poorer  white  and  colored  folks 
found  seats  outside,  upon  what  would  now  be 
known  as  the  "  bleachers,"  or  stood  alongside  the 
lists.  The  knights,  masquerading  in  fanciful 
costumes,  in  which  bright-colored  garments,  gilt 
paper,  and  cardboard  took  the  place  of  knightly 
harness,  were  mounted  on  spirited  horses.  Most 
of  them  were  gathered  at  one  end  of  the  lists, 
while  others  practiced  their  steeds  upon  the  unoc- 
cupied portion  of  the  race  track. 

The  judges  entered  the  grand  stand,  and  one 
of  them,  after  looking  at  his  watch,  gave  a  signal. 
Immediately  a  herald,  wearing  a  bright  yellow 
sash,  blew  a  loud  blast  upon  a  bugle,  and,  big 
with  the  importance  of  his  office,  galloped  wildly 
down  the  lists.  An  attendant  on  horseback  busied 
himseK  hanging  upon  each  of  the  pendent  hooks 
an  iron  ring,  of  some  two  inches  in  diameter, 
while  another,  on  foot,  placed  on  top  of  each  of 
the  shorter  posts  a  wooden  ball  some  four  inches 
through. 

"  It 's  my  first  tournament,"  observed  a  lady 


THE  TOURNAMENT  47 

near  tlie  front  of  the  grand  stand,  leaning  over 
and  addressing  John  Warwick,  who  was  seated  in 
the  second  row,  in  company  wdth  a  very  handsome 
girl.  "It  is  somewhat  different  from  Ashby-de- 
la-Zouch." 

"It  is  the  renaissance  of  chivalry,  Mrs.  New- 
berry," replied  the  young  lawyer,  "  and,  like  any 
other  renaissance,  it  must  adapt  itself  to  new  times 
and  circumstances.  For  instance,  when  we  build 
a  Greek  portico,  having  no  Pentelic  marble  near 
at  hand,  we  use  a  pine-tree,  one  of  nature's  col- 
umns, which  Grecian  art  at  its  best  could  only 
copy  and  idealize.  Our  knights  are  not  weighted 
down  wdth  heavy  armor,  but  much  more  appro- 
priately attired,  for  a  day  like  this,  in  costumes 
that  recall  the  picturesqueness,  without  the  discom- 
fort, of  the  old  knightly  harness.  For  an  iron- 
headed  lance  we  use  a  wooden  substitute,  with 
w^hich  we  transfix  rings  instead  of  hearts ;  while 
our  trusty  blades  hew  their  way  through  wooden 
blocks  instead  of  through  flesh  and  blood.  It  is 
a  South  Carolina  renaissance  which  has  points  of 
advantage  over  the  tournaments  of  the  olden  time." 

"  I  'm  afraid,  Mr.  Warwick,"  said  the  lady, 
"  that  you  're  the  least  bit  heretical  about  our  chiv- 
alry —  or  else  you  're  a  little  too  deep  for  me." 

"  The  last  w^ould  be  impossible,  Mrs.  Newberry ; 
and  I  'm  sure  our  chivalry  has  proved  its  valor  on 
many  a  hard-fought  field.  The  spirit  of  a  thing, 
after  all,  is  what  counts  ;  and  w^hat  is  lacking 
here  ?     We  have  the  lists,  the  knights,  the  pran- 


48         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

cing  steeds,  the  trial  of  strength  and  skill.  If  onr 
knights  do  not  run  the  physical  risks  of  Ashby- 
de-la-Zouch,  they  have  all  the  mental  stimulus. 
Wounded  vanity  will  take  the  place  of  wounded 
limbs,  and  there  will  be  broken  hopes  in  lieu  of 
broken  heads.  How  many  hearts  in  yonder  group 
of  gallant  horsemen  beat  high  with  hope  !  How 
many  possible  Queens  of  Love  and  Beauty  are  in 
this  group  of  fair  faces  that  surround  us  !  " 

The  lady  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  bugle 
sounded  again,  and  the  herald  dashed  swiftly  back 
upon  his  prancing  steed  to  the  waiting  group  of 
riders.  The  horsemen  formed  three  abreast,  and 
rode  down  the  lists  in  orderly  array.  As  they 
passed  the  grand  stand,  each  was  conscious  of  the 
battery  of  bright  eyes  turned  upon  him,  and  each 
gave  by  his  bearing  some  idea  of  his  ability  to 
stand  fire  from  such  weapons.  One  horse  pranced 
proudly,  another  caracoled  with  grace.  One  rider 
fidgeted  nervously,  another  trembled  and  looked 
the  other  way.  Each  horseman  carried  in  his  hand 
a  long  wooden  lance  and  wore  at  his  side  a  cavalry 
sabre,  of  which  there  were  plenty  to  be  had  since 
the  war,  at  small  expense.  Several  left  the  ranks 
and  drew  up  momentarily  beside  the  grand  stand, 
where  they  took  from  fair  hands  a  glove  or  a 
flower,  which  was  pinned  upon  the  rider's  breast 
or  fastened  upon  his  hat  —  a  ribbon  or  a  veil,  which 
was  tied  about  the  lance  like  a  pennon,  but  far 
enough  from  the  point  not  to  interfere  with  the 
usefulness  of  the  weapon. 


THE  TOURNAMENT  49 

As  the  troop  passed  the  lower  end  of  the  grand 
stand,  a  horse,  excited  by  the  crowd,  became 
somewhat  unmanageable,  and  in  the  effort  to  curb 
him,  the  rider  dropped  his  lance.  The  prancing 
animal  reared,  brought  one  of  his  hoofs  down  upon 
the  fallen  lance  with  considerable  force,  and  sent  a 
broken  piece  of  it  flpng  over  the  railing  opposite 
the  grand  stand,  mto  the  middle  of  a  group  of 
spectators  standing  there.  The  flying  fragment 
was  dodged  by  those  who  saw  it  coming,  but 
brought  up  with  a  resounding  thwack  against  the 
head  of  a  colored  man  m  the  second  row,  who 
stood  watching  the  gi^and  stand  with  an  eager  and 
curious  gaze.  He  rubbed  his  head  ruefully,  and 
made  a  good-natured  response  to  the  chaffing  of 
his  neighbors,  who,  seeing  no  great  harm  done, 
made  witty  and  original  remarks  about  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  black  upon  occasions  where  one's 
skidl  was  exposed  to  danger.  Finding  that  the 
blow  had  dra^Ti  blood,  the  young  man  took  out  a 
red  bandana  handkerchief  and  tied  it  around  liis 
head,  meantime  letting  his  eye  roam  over  the  faces 
in  the  gi'and  stand,  as  though  in  search  of  some 
one  that  he  expected  or  hoped  to  find  there. 

The  knights,  having  reached  the  end  of  tho 
lists,  now  turned  and  rode  back  in  open  order, 
with  such  skilKul  horsemanship  as  to  evoke  a 
storm  of  applause  from  the  spectators.  The  ladies 
in  the  grand  stand  waved  their  handkerchiefs 
vigorously,  and  the  men  clapped  their  hands.  The 
beautiful  girl  seated  by  Warwick's  side  acciden- 


50         THE   HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

tally  let  a  little  square  of  white  lace-trimmed  linen 
slip  from  lier  liancl.  It  fluttered  lightly  over  the 
railing,  and,  buoyed  up  by  the  air,  settled  slowly 
toward  the  lists.  A  young  rider  in  the  approach- 
ing rear  rank  saw  the  handkerchief  fall,  and  dart- 
ing swiftly  forward,  caught  it  on  the  point  of  his 
lance  ere  it  touched  the  ground.  He  drew  up  his 
horse  and  made  a  movement  as  though  to  extend 
the  handkerchief  toward  the  lady,  who  was  blush- 
ing profusely  at  the  attention  she  had  attracted  by 
her  carelessness.  The  rider  hesitated  a  moment, 
glanced  interrogatively  at  Warwick,  and  receiving 
a  smile  in  return,  tied  the  handkerchief  around 
the  middle  of  his  lance  and  quickly  rejoined  his 
comrades  at  the  head  of  the  lists. 

The  young  man  with  the  bandage  round  his 
head,  on  the  benches  across  the  lists,  had  forced 
his  way  to  the  front  row  and  was  leaning  against 
the  railing.  His  restless  eye  was  attracted  by 
the  falling  handkerchief,  and  Ms  face,  hitherto 
anxious,  suddenly  lit  up  with  animation. 

"  Yas,  suh,  yas,  suh,  it 's  her !  "  he  muttered 
softly.  "  It 's  Miss  Rena,  sho  's  you  bawn.  She 
looked  lack  a'  angel  befo',  but  now,  up  dere 
'mongs'  all  dem  rich,  fine  folks,  she  looks  lack  a 
whole  flock  er  angels.  Dey  ain'  one  er  dem  ladies 
w'at  could  hoi'  a  candle  ter  her.  I  wonder  w'at 
dat  man  's  gwine  ter  do  wid  her  handkercher  ?  I 
s'pose  he  's  her  gent'eman  now.  I  wonder  ef 
she  'd  know  me  er  speak  ter  me  ef  she  seed  me  ? 
I  reckon  she  would,  sj)ite  er  her  gittin'  up  so  in 


THE  TOURNAMENT  61 

de  worl'  ;  fer  she  wuz  alluz  good  ter  ev'ybody,  an' 
dat  let  even  me  in,"  lie  concluded  with  a  sigh. 

'^  Who  is  the  lady,  Tryon  ?  "  asked  one  of  the 
young  men,  addressing  the  knight  who  had  taken 
the  handkerchief. 

"  A  Miss  Warwick,''  replied  the  knight  plea^ 
santly,  "  Miss  Rowena  Warwick,  the  lawyer's 
sister.'' 

"  I  did  n't  know  he  had  a  sister,"  rejoined  the 
first  speaker.  ''  I  envy  you  your  lady.  There 
are  six  Rebeccas  and  eight  Rowenas  of  my  own 
acquaintance  in  the  grand  stand,  but  she  throws 
them  all  into  the  shade.  She  has  n't  been  here 
long,  surely  ;  I  have  n't  seen  her  before." 

"  She  has  been  away  at  school ;  she  came  only 
last  night,"  returned  the  knight  of  the  crimson 
sash,  briefly.  He  was  already  beginning  to  feel  a 
proprietary  interest  in  the  lady  whose  token  he 
wore,  and  did  not  care  to  discuss  her  with  a  casual 
acquamtance. 

The  herald  sounded  the  charge.  A  rider  darted 
out  from  the  group  and  galloped  over  the  course. 
As  he  passed  under  each  ring,  he  tried  to  catch  it 
on  the  point  of  his  lance,  —  a  feat  which  made 
the  management  of  the  horse  with  the  left  hand 
necessary,  and  required  a  true  eye  and  a  steady 
arm.  The  rider  captured  three  of  the  twelve 
rings,  knocked  tlrree  others  off  the  hooks,  and 
left  six  undisturbed.  Turning  at  the  end  of  the 
lists,  he  took  the  lance  with  the  reins  in  the  left 
hand    and  drew  his  sword  with  the    right.      He 


52         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

then  rode  back  over  the  course,  cutting  at  the 
wooden  balls  upon  the  posts.  Of  these  he  clove 
one  in  twain,  to  use  the  parlance  of  chivalry,  and 
knocked  two  others  off  their  supports.  His  per- 
formance was  greeted  with  a  liberal  measure  of 
applause,  for  which  he  bowed  in  smiling  acknow= 
ledgment  as  he  took  his  place  among  the  riders. 

Again  the  herald's  call  sounded,  and  the  tourney 
went  forward.  Rider  after  rider,  with  varying 
skill,  essayed  his  fortune  with  lance  and  sword. 
Some  took  a  liberal  proportion  of  the  rings  ;  others 
merely  knocked  them  over  the  boundaries,  where 
they  were  collected  by  agile  little  negro  boys  and 
handed  back  to  the  attendants.  A  balking  horse 
caused  the  spectators  much  amusement  and  his 
rider  no  little  chagrin. 

The  lady  who  had  dropped  the  handkerchief 
kept  her  eye  upon  the  knight  who  had  bound  it 
round  his  lance.  "  Who  is  he,  John  ?  "  she  asked 
the  gentleman  beside  her. 

"  That,  my  dear  Rowena,  is  my  good  friend  and 
client,  George  Tryon,  of  North  Carolina.  If  he  had 
been  a  stranger,  I  should  have  said  that  he  took  a 
liberty;  but  as  things  stand,  we  ought  to  regard  it 
as  a  compliment.  The  incident  is  quite  in  accord 
with  the  customs  of  chivalry.  If  George  were  but 
masked  and  you  were  veiled,  we  should  have  a 
romantic  situation,  —  you  the  mysterious  damsel  in 
distress,  he  the  unknown  champion.  The  parallel, 
my  dear,  might  not  be  so  hard  to  draw,  even  as 
things  are.  But  look,  it  is  his  turn  now ;  I  '11  wager 
that  he  makes  a  good  run." 


THE  TOURNAMENT  53 

"  I  '11  take  you  up  on  that,  Mr.  Warwick,"  said 
Mrs.  Newberry  from  behind,  who  seemed  to  have  a 
very  keen  ear  for  whatever  Warwick  said. 

Rena's  eyes  were  fastened  on  her  knight,  so  that 
she  mio'ht  lose  no  sinoie  one  of  his  movements.  As 
he  rode  do^vn  the  lists,  more  than  one  woman  found 
him  j)leasant  to  look  upon.  He  was  a  tall,  fair 
young  man,  with  gray  eyes,  and  a  frank,  open  facco 
He  wore  a  slight  mustache,  and  when  he  smiled, 
showed  a  set  of  white  and  even  teeth.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  very  handsome  and  spirited  bay  mare, 
was  clad  in  a  picturesque  costume,  of  which  velvet 
knee-breeches  and  a  crimson  scarf  were  the  most 
conspicuous  features,  and  displayed  a  marked  skill 
in  horsemanship.  At  the  blast  of  the  bugle  his 
horse  started  forward,  and,  after  the  fh-st  few  rods, 
settled  into  an  even  gallop.  Tryon's  lance,  held 
tridy  and  at  the  right  angle,  captured  the  first  ring, 
then  the  second  and  third.  His  coolness  and  stead- 
iness  seemed  not  at  all  disturbed  by  the  applause 
which  followed,  and  one  by  one  the  remaining  rings 
slipped  over  the  point  of  his  lance,  until  at  the  end 
he  had  taken  every  one  of  the  twelve.  Holding 
the  lance  with  its  booty  of  captured  rings  in  his 
left  hand,  together  with  the  bridle  rein,  he  drew  his 
sabre  with  the  right  and  rode  back  over  the  course. 
His  horse  moved  like  clockwork,  his  eye  was  true 
and  his  hand  steady.  Three  of  the  wooden  balls 
fell  from  the  posts,  split  fairly  in  the  middle,  while 
from  the  fourth  he  sliced  off  a  goodly  piece  and  left 
the  remainder  standing  in  its  place. 


54        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

This  performance,  by  far  the  best  up  to  this 
point,  and  barely  escaping  perfection,  elicited  a 
storm  of  applause.  The  rider  was  not  so  well 
known  to  the  townspeople  as  some  of  the  other 
participants,  and  his  name  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth  in  answer  to  nimierous  inquiries.  The  girl 
whose  token  he  had  worn  also  became  an  object  of 
renewed  interest,  because  of  the  result  to  her  in 
case  the  knight  should  prove  victor  in  the  contest, 
of  which  there  could  now  scarcely  be  a  doubt ;  for 
but  three  riders  remained,  and  it  was  very  improb- 
able that  any  one  of  them  would  excel  the  last. 
Wagers  for  the  remainder  of  the  tourney  stood 
anywhere  from  five,  and  even  from  ten  to  one,  in 
favor  of  the  knight  of  the  crimson  sash,  and  when 
the  last  course  had  been  run,  his  backers  were 
jubilant.  No  one  of  those  following  him  had  dis- 
played anything  like  equal  skill. 

The  herald  now  blew  his  bugle  and  declared  the 
tournament  closed.  The  judges  put  their  heads 
together  for  a  moment.  The  bugle  sounded  again, 
and  the  herald  announced  in  a  loud  voice  that  Sir 
George  Tryon,  having  taken  the  greatest  number 
of  rings  and  split  the  largest  number  of  balls,  was 
proclaimed  victor  in  the  tournament  and  entitled 
to  the  flowery  chaplet  of  victory. 

Tryon,  having  bowed  repeatedly  in  response  to 
the  Hberal  applause,  advanced  to  the  judges'  stand 
and  received  the  trophy  from  the  hands  of  the  cliief 
judge,  who  exliorted  him  to  wear  the  garland  wor- 
thily, and  to  yield  it  only  to  a  better  man. 


THE   TOURNAMENT  55 

*'It  will  be  your  privilege,  Sir  George,"  an- 
nounced the  judge,  "  as  the  chief  reward  of  your 
valor,  to  select  from  the  assembled  beauty  of  Clar- 
ence the  lady  whom  you  wish  to  honor,  to  whom 
we  will  all  do  homage  as  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty." 

Tryon  took  the  wreath  and  bowed  his  thanks. 
Then  placing  the  trophy  on  the  point  of  his  lance, 
he  spoke  earnestly  for  a  moment  to  the  herald,  and 
rode  past  the  grand  stand,  from  which  there  was 
another  outburst  of  applause.  Returning  upon  his 
tracks,  the  knight  of  the  crimson  sash  paused  before 
the  group  where  Warwick  and  his  sister  sat,  and 
lowered  the  wreath  thrice  before  the  lady  whose 
token  he  had  won. 

"  Oyez  !  Oyez  !  "  cried  the  herald  ;  "  Sir  George 
Tryon,  the  victor  in  the  tournament,  has  chosen 
Miss  Rowena  Warwick  as  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty,  and  she  will  be  cro\vned  at  the  feast  to-night 
and  receive  the  devoirs  of  all  true  knights," 

The  fair-ground  was  soon  covered  with  scattered 
groups  of  the  spectators  of  the  tournament.  In 
one  group  a  vanquished  knight  explained  in  elabo- 
rate detail  why  it  was  that  he  had  failed  to  win  the 
wreath.  More  than  one  young  woman  wondered 
why  some  one  of  the  home  young  men  could  not 
have  taken  the  honors,  or,  if  the  stranger  must  win 
them,  why  he  could  not  have  selected  some  belle  of 
the  town  as  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty  instead 
of  this  upstart  girl  who  had  blown  into  the  town 
over  night,  as  one  might  say. 


56         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

Warwick  and  his  sister,  standing  under  a  spread- 
ing elm,  held  a  little  court  of  their  own.  A  dozen 
gentlemen  and  several  ladies  had  sought  an  intro= 
duction  before  Tryon  came  up, 

"  I  suppose  John  would  have  a  right  to  call  me 
out.  Miss  Warwick,"  said  Tryon,  when  he  had  been 
formally  introduced  and  had  shaken  hands  with 
Warwick's  sister,  "  for  taking  liberties  with  the 
property  and  name  of  a  lady  to  whom  I  had  not 
had  an  introduction  ;  but  I  know  John  so  well 
that  you  seemed  like  an  old  acquaintance ;  and 
when  I  saw  you,  and  recalled  your  name,  which 
your  brother  had  mentioned  more  than  once,  I  felt 
instinctively  that  you  ought  to  be  the  queen.  I 
entered  my  name  only  yesterday,  merely  to  swell 
the  number  and  make  the  occasion  more  interest- 
ing. These  fellows  have  been  practicing  for  a 
month,  and  I  had  no  hope  of  winning.  I  should 
have  been  satisfied,  indeed,  if  I  hadn't  made  my- 
self ridiculous ;  but  when  you  dropped  your  hand- 
kerchief, I  felt  a  sudden  inspiration ;  and  as  soon 
as  I  had  tied  it  upon  my  lance,  victory  perched 
upon  my  saddle-bow,  guided  my  lance  and  sword, 
and  rings  and  balls  went  down  before  me  like  chaff 
before  the  wind.  Oh,  it  was  a  great  inspiration, 
Miss  Warwick !  " 

Rena,  for  it  was  our  Patesville  acquaintance  fresh 
from  boarding-school,  colored  deeply  at  this  frank 
and  fervid  flattery,  and  could  only  murmur  an 
inarticulate  reply.  Her  year  of  instruction,  while 
distinctly  improving  her  mind  and  manners,  had 


a 
a 


THE   TOURNAMENT  57 

scarcely  prepared  her  for  so  sudden  an  elevation 
into  a  grade  of  society  to  whicli  she  had  hitherto 
been  a  stranger.  She  was  not  without  a  certain 
courage,  however,  and  her  brother,  who  remained 
at  her  side,  helped  her  over  the  most  difficult  situa- 
tions. 

"  We  '11  forgive  you,  George,"  replied  Warwick, 

if  you  '11  come  home  to  luncheon  with  us." 

I  'm  mighty  sorry  —  awfully  sorry,"  returned 
Tryon,  with  evident  regret,  "  but  I  have  another 
engagement,  which  I  can  scarcely  break,  even  by 
the  command  of  royalty.  At  what  time  shall  I 
call  for  Miss  Warwick  this  evening  ?  I  believe  that 
j^rivilege  is  mine,  along  with  the  other  honors  and 
rewards  of  victory,  —  unless  she  is  bound  to  some 
one  else." 

"  She  is  entirely  free,"  rej)lied  Warwick.  "  Come 
as  early  as  you  like,  and  I  '11  talk  to  you  until  she  's 
ready." 

Tryon  bowed  himself  away,  and  after  a  number 
of  gentlemen  and  a  few  ladies  had  paid  their 
respects  to  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  and 
received  an  introduction  to  her,  Warwick  signaled 
to  the  servant  who  had  his  carriage  in  charge,  and 
was  soon  driving  homeward  with  his  sister.  No  one 
of  the  party  noticed  a  young  negro,  with  a  hand- 
kerchief bound  around  his  head,  who  followed  them 
until  the  carriage  turned  into  the  gate  and  swept 
up  the  wide  drive  that  led  to  Warwick's  doorstep/ 

"  Well,  Rena,"  said  Warwick,  when  they  found 
themselves  alone,  '^  you  have  arrived.     Your  debut 


58         THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

into  society  is  a  little  more  spectacular  than  I  should 
have  wished,  but  we  must  rise  to  the  occasion 
and  make  tlie  most  of  it.  You  are  winning  the 
first  fruits  of  your  opportunity.  You  are  the  most 
envied  woman  in  Clarence  at  this  particular  mo- 
ment, and,  imless  I  am  mistaken,  will  be  the  most 
admired  at  the  ball  to-night." 


YI 

THE  QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY 

Shortly  after  luncheon,  Rena  had  a  visitor  in 
the  person  of  Mrs,  Newberry,  a  vivacious  young 
widow  of  the  town,  who  proffered  her  services  to 
instruct  Rena  in  the  etiquette  of  the  annual  ball. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Newberry,  "  the 
first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  your  coronation  robe 
ready.  It  simply  means  a  gown  with  a  long  train. 
You  have  a  lovely  white  waist.  Get  right  into  my 
buggy,  and  we  '11  go  down  town  to  get  the  cloth, 
take  it  over  to  Mrs.  Marshall's,  and  have  her  run 
you  up  a  skirt  this  afternoon." 

Rena  placed  herself  unreservedly  in  the  hands 
of  Mrs.  Newberry,  who  introduced  her  to  the  best 
dressmaker  of  the  town,  a  woman  of  much  experi- 
ence in  such  affairs,  who  improvised  during  the 
afternoon  a  gown  suited  to  the  occasion.  Mrs. 
Marshall  had  made  more  than  a  dozen  ball  dresses 
during  the  preceding  month  ;  being  a  wise  woman 
and  understanding  her  business  thoroughly,  she 
had  made  each  one  of  them  so  that  with  a  few 
additional  touches  it  might  serve  for  the  Queen  of 
Love  and  Beauty.  This  was  her  first  direct  order 
for  the  specific  garment. 


CO        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

Tryon  escorted  Rena  to  the  ball,  which  was 
held  in  tho  principal  public  hall  of  the  town,  and 
attended  by  all  the  best  people.  The  champion 
still  wore  the  costume  of  the  morning,  in  place 
of  evening  dress,  save  that  long  stockings  and 
dancing-pumps  had  taken  the  place  of  riding-boots. 

E,ena  went  through  the  ordeal  very  creditably. 
Her  shyness  was  j^alpable,  but  it  was  saved  from 
awkwardness  by  her  native  gi-ace  and  good  sense. 
She  made  up  in  modesty  what  she  lacked  in 
aplomb.  Her  months  in  school  had  not  eradicated 
a  certain  self-consciousness  born  of  her  secret. 
The  brain-cells  never  lose  the  impressions  of  youth, 
and  Rena's  Patesville  life  was  not  far  enough  re- 
moved to  have  lost  its  distinctness  of  outHne. 
Of  the  two,  the  present  was  more  of  a  dream, 
the  past  was  the  more  vivid  reality.  At  school  she 
had  learned  something  from  books  and  not  a  little 
from  observation.  She  had  been  able  to  compare 
herself  with  other  girls,  and  to  see  wherein  she  ex- 
celled or  fell  short  of  them.  With  a  sincere  desire 
for  improvement,  and  a  wish  to  please  her  brother 
and  do  him  credit,  she  had  sought  to  make  the 
most  of  her  opportunities.  Building  upon  a  foun- 
dation of  innate  taste  and  intelligence,  she  had 
acquired  much  of  the  seK-possession  which  comes 
from  a  knowledge  of  correct  standards  of  deport- 
ment. She  had  moreover  learned  without  diffi- 
culty, for  it  suited  her  disposition,  to  keep  silence 
when  she  could  not  speak  to  advantage.  A  certain 
necessary  reticence  about  the  past  added  strength 


THE  QUEEN  OF  LOVE  AND  BEAUTY   61 

to  a  natural  reserve.  Thus  equipped,  she  held  her 
own  very  well  in  the  somewhat  trying  ordeal  of 
the  ball,  at  which  the  fiction  of  queenship  and  the 
attendant  ceremonies,  which  were  pretty  and  grace- 
ful, made  her  the  most  conspicuous  figure.  Few 
of  those  who  watched  her  move  with  easy  grace 
through  the  measures  of  the  dance  could  have 
guessed  how  nearly  her  heart  was  in  her  mouth 
during  much  of  the  time. 

"  You  're  doing  splendidly,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Newberry,  who  had  constituted  herself  Rena's 
chaperone. 

"  I  trust  your  Gracious  Majesty  is  pleased  with 
the  homage  of  your  devoted  subjects,"  said  Tryon, 
who  spent  much  of  his  time  by  her  side  and  kept 
up  the  character  of  knight  in  liis  speech  and 
manner. 

"  Very  much,"  replied  the  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty,  with  a  somewhat  tired  smile.  It  was 
pleasant,  but  she  would  be  glad,  she  thought,  when 
it  was  all  over. 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,"  whispered  her  brother. 
"  You  are  not  only  queen,  but  the  belle  of  the 
ball.  I  am  proud  of  you.  A  dozen  women  here 
would  give  a  year  off  the  latter  end  of  life  to  be 
in  your  shoes  to-night." 

Rena  felt  immensely  relieved  when  the  hour  ar- 
rived at  which  she  could  take  her  departure,  which 
was  to  be  the  signal  for  the  breaking-up  of  the 
ball.  She  was  driven  home  in  Tryon's  carriage, 
her  brother  accompanying  them.     The  night  was 


62         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

warm,  and  the  drive  homeward  under  the  starlight, 
in  the  open  carriage,  had  a  soothing  effect  upon 
Rena's  excited  nerves.  The  calm  restfulness  of 
the  night,  the  cool  blue  depths  of  the  imclouded 
sky,  the  solenui  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  a  distant 
swamp,  were  much  more  in  harmony  with  her 
nature  than  the  crowded  brilliancy  of  the  ball-room. 
She  closed  her  eyes,  and,  leaning  back  in  the  car- 
riage, thought  of  her  mother,  who  she  wished  might 
have  seen  her  daughter  this  night.  A  momentary 
pang  of  homesickness  pierced  her  tender  heart, 
and  she  furtively  wiped  aAvay  the  tears  that  came 
into  her  eyes. 

"  Good-night,  fair  Queen  !  "  exclaimed  Tryon, 
breaking  into  her  reverie  as  the  carriage  rolled  up 
to  the  doorstep,  "  and  let  your  loyal  subject  kiss 
your  hand  in  token  of  his  fealty.  May  your 
Majesty  never  abdicate  her  throne,  and  may  she 
ever  count  me  her  humble  servant  and  devoted 
knight." 

"  And  now,  sister,"  said  Warwick,  when  Tryon 
had  been:  driven  away,  "  now  that  the  masquerade 
is  over,  let  us  to  sleep,  and  to-morrow  take  up  the 
serious  business  of  life.  Your  day  has  been  a  glo- 
rious success !  " 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  gave  her  a  kiss 
and  a  brotherly  hug. 

"  It  is  a  dream,"  she  murmured  sleepily,  "  only 
a  dream.  I  am  Cinderella  before  the  clock  has 
struck.     Good-night,  dear  John." 

"  Good-night,  Rowena." 


\ 

( 

I 

\ 


vn 

'mtd  new  surroundings 

Warwick's  residence  was  situated  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town.  It  was  a  fine  old  plantation 
house,  built  in  colonial  times,  with  a  stately  colon- 
nade, wide  verandas,  and  long  windows  with  Ve- 
netian blinds.  It  was  painted  white,  and  stood 
back  several  rods  from  the  street,  in  a  charming 
setting  of  pahiiettoes,  magTiolias,  and  flowering 
shrubs.  Rena  had  always  thought  her  mother's 
house  large,  but  now  it  seemed  cramped  and  nar- 
row, in  comparison  mth  this  roomy  mansion.  The 
furniture  was  old-fashioned  and  massive.  The 
great  brass  andirons  on  the  ^dde  hearth  stood  like 
sentinels  proclaiming  and  guarding  the  dignity  of 
the  family.  The  s^^reading  antlers  on  the  wall  tes- 
tified to  a  mighty  hunter  in  some  past  generation. 
The  portraits  of  Warwick's  mfe's  ancestors  — 
high-featured,  proud  men  and  women,  dressed  in 
the  fashions  of  a  bygone  age  —  looked  down  from 
tarnished  gilt  frames.  It  was  aU  very  novel  to 
her,  and  very  impressive.  When  she  ate  off 
china,  with  silver  knives  and  forks  that  had  come 
down  as  heirlooms,  escaping  somehow  the  ravages 
and  exigencies  of  the  war  time,  —  Warwick  told 


64        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

her  afterwards  how  he  had  buried  them  out  of 
reach  of  friend  or  foe,  —  she  thought  that  her 
brother  must  be  wealthy,  and  she  felt  very  proud 
of  him  and  of  her  op23ortunity.  The  servants,  of 
whom  there  were  several  in  the  house,  treated  her 
with  a  deference  to  which  her  eight  months  in 
school  had  only  partly  accustomed  her.  At  school 
she  had  been  one  of  many  to  be  served,  and  had 
herself  been  held  to  obedience.  Here,  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  was  mistress,  and  tasted  the 
sweets  of  power. 

The  household  consisted  of  her  brother  and 
herself,  a  cook,  a  coachman,  a  nurse,  and  her 
brother's  little  son  Albert.  The  child,  wath  a  fine 
instinct,  had  put  out  his  puny  arms  to  Rena  at  first 
sight,  and  she  had  clasped  the  little  man  to  her 
bosom  with  a  motherly  caress.  She  had  always 
loved  weak  creatures.  Kittens  and  puppies  had 
ever  found  a  welcome  and  a  meal  at  Rena's  hands, 
only  to  be  chased  away  by  Mis'  Molly,  who  had 
had  a  mder  experience.  No  shiftless  poor  white, 
no  half-witted  or  hungry  negro,  had  ever  gone 
unfed  from  Mis'  MoUy's  kitchen  door  if  Rena 
were  there  to  hear  his  plaint.  Little  Albert  was 
pale  and  sickly  when  she  came,  but  soon  bloomed 
again  in  the  sunshine  of  her  care,  and  was  happy 
only  in  her  presence.  Warwick  found  pleasure  in 
their  growing  love  for  each  other,  and  was  glad 
to  perceive  that  the  child  formed  a  living  link  to 
connect  her  with  his  home. 

"  Dat   chile   sutt'nly   do   lub   Miss    Eena,  an' 


'MID  NEW  SURROUNDINGS  65 

dat  's  a  fac',  slio  's  you  bawn,"  remarked  'Lissa  tlie 
cook  to  Mirny  tlie  nurse  one  day.  "You'll  get 
yo'  nose  put  out  er  j'int,  ef  you  don't  min'." 

"  I  ain't  frettin',  honey,"  laughed  the  nurse 
good-naturedly.  She  was  not  at  all  jealous.  She 
had  the  same  wages  as  before,  and  her  labors  were 
materially  lightened  by  the  aunt's  attention  to  the 
child.  Tliis  gave  Mirny  much  more  time  to  flirt 
with  Tom  the  coachman. 

It  was  a  source  of  much  gratification  to  War- 
wick that  his  sister  seemed  to  adapt  herself  so 
easily  to  the  new  conditions.  Her  graceful  move- 
ments, the  quiet  elegance  wdth  which  she  wore 
even  the  simplest  gown,  the  easy  authoritativeness 
with  which  she  directed  the  servants,  were  to  him 
proofs  of  superior  quality,  and  he  felt  correspond- 
ingly proud  of  her.  His  feeling  for  her  was  some- 
thing more  than  brotherly  love,  —  he  was  quite 
conscious  that  there  were  degrees  in  brotherly 
love,  and  that  if  she  had  been  homely  or  stupid, 
he  would  never  have  disturbed  her  in  the  stag-nant 
life  of  the  house  behind  the  cedars.  There  had 
come  to  him  from  some  source,  do^^Tii  the  stream 
of  time,  a  rill  of  the  Greek  sense  of  proportion,  of 
fitness,  of  beauty,  which  is  indeed  but  propor- 
tion embodied,  the  perfect  adaptation  of  means  to 
ends.  He  had  perceived,  more  clearly  than  she 
could  have  appreciated  it  at  that  tune,  the  unde- 
veloped elements  of  discord  bets\^een  Rena  and  her 
former  life.  He  had  imagined  her  lending  grace 
and  charm  to  his  own  household.     Still  another 


6G        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

motive,  a  purely  psychological  one,  had  more  or 
less  consciously  influenced  him.  He  had  no  fear 
that  the  family  secret  would  ever  be  discovered,  — 
he  had  taken  his  precautions  too  thoroughly,  he 
thought,  for  that ;  and  yet  he  could  not  but  feel, 
at  times,  that  if  perad venture  —  it  was  a  conceiv- 
able hypothesis  —  it  should  become  known,  his 
fine  social  position  would  collapse  like  a  house  of 
cards.  Because  of  this  knowledge,  which  the 
world  around  him  did  not  possess,  he  had  felt  now 
and  then  a  certain  sense  of  loneliness  ;  and  there 
was  a  measure  of  relief  in  having  about  him 
one  who  knew  his  past,  and  yet  whose  knowledge, 
because  of  their  common  interest,  would  not  inter- 
fere with  his  present  or  jeoj^ardize  his  future. 
For  he  had  always  been,  in  a  figurative  sense,  a 
naturalized  foreigner  in  the  world  of  wide  oppor- 
tunity, and  Rena  was  one  of  his  old  compatriots, 
whom  he  was  glad  to  welcome  into  the  populous 
loneliness  of  his  adopted  country. 


VIII 

THE    COURTSHIP 

In  a  few  weeks  the  echoes  of  the  tournament 
died  away,  and  Rena's  life  settled  down  into  a 
pleasant  routine,  which  she  found  much  more 
comfortable  than  her  recent  spectacular  promi- 
nence. Her  queenship,  while  not  entirely  for- 
given by  the  ladies  of  the  to^n,  had  gained  for 
her  a  temporary  social  prominence.  Among  her 
own  sex,  Mrs.  Newberry  proved  a  warm  and 
enthusiastic  friend.  Rumor  whispered  that  the 
lively  young  widow  would  not  be  unwilling  to 
console  AVarwdck  in  the  loneliness  of  the  old 
colonial  mansion,  to  which  his  sister  was  a  most 
excellent  medium  of  approach.  Whether  this  was 
true  or  not  it  is  unnecessary  to  inquire,  for  it  is 
no  part  of  this  story,  except  as  perhaps  indicat- 
ing why  Mrs.  Newberry  played  the  part  of  the 
female  friend,  without  whom  no  woman  is  ever 
launched  successfully  in  a  small  and  conservative 
society.  Her  brother's  standing  gave  her  the 
right  of  social  entry  ;  the  tournament  opened  wide 
the  door,  and  Mrs.  Newberry  performed  the  cere- 
mony of  introduction.  Rena  had  many  visitors 
during  the  month  following  the  tournament,  and 


68        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

might  have  made  her  choice  from  among  a  dozen 
suitors  ;  but  among  them  all,  her  knight  of  the 
handkerchief  found  most  favor. 


George  Tryon  had  come  to  Clarence  a  few 
months  before  upon  business  connected  with  the 
settlement  of  his  grandfather's  estate.  A  rather 
complicated  litigation  had  grown  up  around  the 
affair,  various  phases  of  which  had  kept  Tryon 
almost  constantly  in  the  town.  He  had  placed 
matters  in  Warwick's  hands,  and  had  formed  a 
decided  friendship  for  his  attorney,  for  whom 
he  felt  a  frank  admiration.  Tryon  was  only 
twenty-three,  and  his  friend's  additional  five  years, 
supplemented  by  a  certain  professional  gravity, 
commanded  a  great  deal  of  respect  from  the 
younger  man.  When  Tryon  had  known  War-  / 
wick  for  a  week,  he  had  been  ready  to  swear  by  ' 
him.  Indeed,  Warwick  was  a  man  for  whom 
most  people  formed  a  liking  at  first  sight.  To 
this  power  of  attraction  he  owed  most  of  his  suc- 
cess —  first  wdth  Judge  Straight,  of  Patesville, 
then  with  the  la^\yer  whose  office  he  had  entered 
at  Clarence,  with  the  woman  who  became  his 
wife,  and  with  the  clients  for  whom  he  trans- 
acted business.  Tryon  would  have  maintained 
against  all  comers  that  Warwick  was  the  finest 
fellow  in  the  world.  When  he  met  Warwick's 
sister,  the  foundation  for  admiration  had  al- 
ready been  laid.  If  Eena  had  proved  to  be  a 
maiden  lady  of  uncertain  age  and  doubtful  per- 


THE  COURTSHIP  69 

sonal  attractiveness,  Tryon  would  probably  have 
found  in  her  a  most  excellent  lady,  worthy  of  all 
respect  and  esteem,  and  would  have  treated  her 
with  profound  deference  and  sedulous  courtesy. 
When  she  proved  to  be  a  young  and  handsome 
woman,  of  the  t}^e  that  he  admired  most,  he 
was  capable  of  any  degTce  of  infatuation.  His 
mother  had  for  a  long  time  wanted  him  to  marry 
the  orphan  daughter  of  an  old  friend,  a  vivacious 
blonde,  who  worshiped  him.  He  had  felt  friendly 
towards  her,  but  had  shrunk  from  matrimony. 
He  did  not  want  her  badly  enough  to  give  up  his 
freedom.  The  war  had  interfered  with  his  edu- 
cation, and  though  fairly  well  instructed,  he  had 
never  attended  college.  In  his  own  opinion,  he 
ought  to  see  somethiog  of  the  world,  and  have  his 
youthful  fling.  Later  on,  when  he  got  ready  to 
settle  down,  if  Blanche  were  still  in  the  humor, 
they  might  marry,  and  sink  to  the  humdrum 
level  of  other  old  married  people.  The  fact  that 
Blanche  Leary  was  visiting  his  mother  during  his 
unexpectedly  long  absence  had  not  operated  at 
all  to  hasten  his  return  to  North  Carolina.  He 
had  been  having  a  very  good  time  at  Clarence, 
and,  at  the  distance  of  several  hundred  miles,  was 
safe  for  the  time  being  from  any  immediate  dan- 
ger of  marriage. 

With  Rena's  advent,  however,  he  had  seen  Hfe 
through  different  glasses.  His  heart  had  thrilled 
at  first  sight  of  this  tall  girl,  with  the  ivory  com- 
plexion, the  rippling  brown  hair,  and  the  inscru- 


/ 

> 

I 


70        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDAES 

table  eyes.  When  he  became  better  acquainted 
with  her,  he  liked  to  think  that  her  thoughts  cen- 
tred mainly  in  himself  ;  and  in  this  he  was  not 
far  wrong.  He  discovered  that  she  had  a  short 
upper  lip,  and  what  seemed  to  him  an  eminently 
kissable  mouth.  After  he  had  dined  twice  at 
Warwick's,  subsequently  to  the  tournament,  —  his 
lucky  choice  of  Rena  had  put  him  at  once  upon 
a  household  footing  with  the  family,  —  his  views 
of  marriage  changed  entirely.  It  now  seemed  to 
him  the  duty,  as  well  as  the  high  and  holy  privi- 
lege of  a  young  man,  to  marry  and  manfully  to 
pay  his  debt  to  society.  When  in  Rena's  pre- 
sence, he  could  not  imagine  how  he  had  ever  con- 
templated the  possibility  of  marriage  with  Blanche 
Leary,  —  she  was  utterly,  entirely,  and  hopelessly 
unsuited  to  him.  For  a  fair  man  of  vivacious 
temperament,  this  stately  dark  girl  was  the  ideal 
mate.  Even  his  mother  would  admit  this,  if  she 
could  only  see  Rena.  To  win  this  beautiful 
girl  for  his  wife  would  be  a  worthy  task.  He  had 
crowned  her  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty ;  since 
then  she  had  ascended  the  throne  of  his  heart. 
He  would  make  her  queen  of  his  home  and  mis- 
tress of  his  life. 

To  Rena  this  brief  month's  courtship  came  as  a 
new  education.  Not  only  had  this  fair  young  man 
crowned  her  queen,  and  honored  her  above  all 
the  ladies  in  town  ;  but  since  then  he  had  waited 
assiduously  upon  her,  had  spoken  softly  to  her,  had 
looked  at  her  with  shining  eyes,  and  had  sought  to 


THE   COURTSHIP  71 

be  alone  with  her.  The  time  soon  came  when  to 
touch  his  hand  in  greeting  sent  a  thrill  through  her 
frame,  —  a  time  when  she  listened  for  his  footstep 
and  was  happy  in  his  presence.  He  had  been  bold 
enough  at  the  tournament ;  he  had  since  become 
somewhat  bashful  and  constrained.  He  must  be  in 
love,  she  thought,  and  wondered  how  soon  he  would 
speak.  If  it  were  so  sweet  to  walk  with  him  in  the 
garden,  or  along  the  shaded  streets,  to  sit  with  him, 
to  feel  the  touch  of  his  hand,  what  happiness  would 
it  not  be  to  hear  him  say  that  he  loved  her  —  to 
bear  his  name,  to  live  with  liim  always.  To  be  thus 
loved  and  honored  by  this  handsome  young  man, 
—  she  could  hardly  believe  it  possible.  He  would 
never  speak  —  he  would  discover  her  secret  and 
withdraw.  She  turned  pale  at  the  thought,  —  ah, 
God !  something  would  happen,  —  it  was  too  good 
to  be  true.  The  Prince  would  never  try  on  the 
glass  slipper. 

Tryon  first  told  his  love  for  Rena  one  summer 
evening  on  their  way  home  from  church.  They 
were  walking  in  the  moonlight  along  the  quiet  street, 
which,  but  for  their  presence,  seemed  quite  deserted. 

"  Miss  Warwick  —  Rowena,"  he  said,  clasping 
with  his  right  hand  the  hand  that  rested  on  his  left 
arm,  "  I  love  you !     Do  you  —  love  me  ?  " 

To  Rena  this  simple  avowal  came  with  much 
greater  force  than  a  more  formal  declaration  could 
have  had.  It  appealed  to  her  own  simple  nature. 
Indeed,  few  women  at  such  a  moment  criticise  the 
form  in  which  the  most  fatef id  words  of  life  —  but 


72        THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

one  —  are  spoken.  Words,  while  pleasant,  are 
really  superfluous.  Her  whispered  "  Yes  "  spoke 
volumes. 

They  walked  on  past  the  house,  along  the  country 
road  into  w^iich  the  street  soon  merged.  When 
they  returned,  an  hour  later,  they  found  Warwick 
seated  on  the  piazza,  in  a  rocking-chair,  smoking  a 
fragrant  cigar. 

''  Well,  children,"  he  observed  with  mock  severity, 
"  you  are  late  in  getting  home  from  church.  The 
sermon  must  have  been  extremely  long." 

"  We  have  been  attending  an  after-meeting," 
replied  Tryon  joyfully,  "  and  have  been  discussing 
an  old  text,  '  Little  children,  love  one  another,' 
and  its  corollary,  '  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  live 
alone.'  John,  I  am  the  happiest  man  alive.  Your 
sister  has  promised  to  marry  me.  I  should  like  to 
shake  my  brother's  hand." 

Never  does  one  feel  so  strongly  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  man  as  when  one  loves  some  other 
fellow's  sister.  Warwick  sprang  from  his  chair  and 
clasped  Tryon' s  extended  hand  w4th  real  emotion. 
He  knew  of  no  man  whom  he  would  have  preferred 
to  Tryon  as  a  husband  for  his  sister. 

"  My  dear  George  —  my  dear  sister,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  I  am  very,  very  glad.  I  wish  you 
every  happiness.  My  sister  is  the  most  fortunate 
of  women." 

"  And  I  am  the  luckiest  of  men,"  cried  Tryon. 

"  I  wish  you  every  happiness,"  repeated  War- 
wick ;  adding,  with  a  touch  of  solemnity,  as  a  cer- 


THE  COURTSHIP  73 

tain  thought,  never  far  distant,  occurred  to  him, 
"  I  hope  that  neither  of  you  may  ever  regret  your 
choice." 

Thus  placed  upon  the  footing  of  an  accepted 
lover,  Tryon's  visits  to  the  house  became  more  fre- 
quent. He  wished  to  fix  a  time  for  the  marriage, 
but  at  this  point  Ren  a  developed  a  strange  reluc- 
tance. 

"  Can  we  not  love  each  other  for  a  while  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  To  be  engaged  is  a  pleasure  that  comes 
but  once  ;  it  would  be  a  pity  to  cut  it  too  short." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  that  I  would  cheerfully  dispense 
with,"  he  repHed,  "  for  the  certainty  of  possession. 
I  want  you  all  to  myself,  and  all  the  time.  Things 
might  happen.  If  I  should  die,  for  instance,  before 
I  married  you  "  — 

"  Oh,  don't  suppose  such  awful  things,"  she 
cried,  putting  her  hand  over  his  mouth. 

He  held  it  there  and  kissed  it  until  she  pulled  it 
away. 

"  I  should  consider,"  he  resumed,  completing  the 
sentence,  "  that  my  life  had  been  a  failure." 

"  If  I  should  die,"  she  murmured,  "  I  should  die 
happy  in  the  knowledge  that  you  had  loved  me." 

"  In  three  weeks,"  he  went  on,  "  I  shall  have 
finished  my  business  in  Clarence,  and  there  will  be 
but  one  thing  to  keep  me  here.  When  shall  it  be  ? 
I  must  take  you  home  with  me." 

"  I  will  let  you  know,"  she  replied,  with  a  troubled 
sigh,  "  in  a  week  from  to-day." 

"  I  '11  call  your  attention  to  the  subject  every  day 


74        THE  HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

in  the  mean  time,"  he  asserted.     "  I  shoukl  n't  like 
you  to  forget  it." 

Rena's  slii'inking  from  the  irrevocable  step  of 
marriage  was  due  to  a  simple  and  yet  complex 
cause.  Stated  baldly,  it  was  the  consciousness  of 
her  secret ;  the  complexity  arose  out  of  the  vari-  /  f 
ous  ways  in  which  it  seemed  to  bear  upon  herj  | 
future.  Our  lives  are  so  bound  up  with  those  of 
our  fellow  men  that  the  slightest  departure  from 
the  beaten  path  involves  a  multiplicity  of  small 
adjustments.  It  had  not  been  difficult  for  Rena 
to  conform  her  speech,  her  manners,  and  in  a 
measure  her  modes  of  thought,  to  those  of  the 
people  around  her ;  but  when  this  readjustment 
went  beyond  mere  externals  and  concerned  the 
vital  issues  of  life,  the  secret  that  oppressed  her 
took  on  a  more  serious  aspect,  with  tragic  possibil- 
ities. A  discursive  imagination  was  not  one  of  her 
characteristics,  or  the  danger  of  a  marriage  of 
which  perfect  frankness  was  not  a  condition  might 
well  have  presented  itseK  before  her  heart  had  be- 
come involved.  Under  the  influence  of  doubt  and  ' ' 
fear  acting  upon  love,  the  invisible  bar  to  happi- 
ness glowed  with  a  lambent  flame  that  tln^eatened 
dire  disaster. 

"  Would  he  have  loved  me  at  all,"  she  asked 
herself,  "if  he  had  known  the  story  of  my  past ? 
Or,  having  loved  me,  could  he  blame  me  now  for 
what  I  cannot  help  ?  " 

There  were  two  shoals  in  the  channel  of  her  life, 
upon  either  of    which  her    happiness   might   go 


THE  COURTSHIP  75 

to  slilp wreck.  Since  leaving  the  house  behind  the 
cedars,  where  she  had  been  brought  into  the 
worki  without  her  own  knowledge  or  consent,  and 
had  first  drawn  the  breath  of  life  by  the  invol- 
untary contraction  of  certain  muscles,  Rena  had 
learned,  in  a  short  tinie,  many  things  ;  but  she 
was  yet  to  learn  that  the  innocent  suffer  Avith  the 
gaiilty,  and  feel  the  punislunent  the  more  keenly 
because  unmerited.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that  the 
old  Mosaic  formula,  "  The  sins  of  the  fathers 
shall  be  visited  upon  the  children,"  was  graven 
more  indelibly  upon  the  heart  of  the  race  than 
upon  the  tables  of  Sinai. 

But  would  her  lover  still  love  her,  if  he  knew 
all?  She  had  read  some  of  the  novels  in  the 
bookcase  in  her  mother's  hall,  and  others  at  board- 
ing-school. She  had  read  that  love  was  a  con- 
queror, that  neither  life  nor  death,  nor  creed  nor 
caste,  could  stay  his  trimnphant  course.  Her  secret 
was  no  legal  bar  to  their  union.  If  Rena  could 
forget  the  secret,  and  Tryon  should  never  know  it, 
it  would  be  no  obstacle  to  their  happiness.  But 
Rena  felt,  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart,  that  happi- 
ness was  not  a  matter  of  law  or  of  fact,  but  lay 
entirely  within  the  domain  of  sentiment.  We  are 
happy  when  we  think  ourselves  happy,  and  with  a 
strange  perversity  we  often  differ  from  others  with 
regard  to  what  should  constitute  our  happiness. 
Rena's  secret  was  the  worm  in  the  bud,  the  skele- 
ton in  the  closet. 

"  He  says  that  he  loves  me.     He  does  love  me. 


76        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

Would  he  love  me,  if  he  knew  ?  "  She  stood  be- 
fore an  oval  mirror  brought  from  France  by  one 
of  Warwick's  wife's  ancestors,  and  regarded  her 
image  with  a  coldly  critical  eye.  She  was  as  little 
vain  as  any  of  her  sex  who  are  endowed  with 
beauty.  She  tried  to  place  herself,  in  thus  pass- 
ing upon  her  own  claims  to  consideration,  in  the 
hostile  attitude  of  society  toward  her  hidden  dis- 
ability. There  was  no  mark  ujDon  her  brow  to 
brand  her  as  less  pure,  less  innocent,  less  desirable, 
less  worthy  to  be  loved,  than  these  proud  women 
of  the  past  who  had  admired  themselves  in  this 
old  mirror. 

"  I  think  a  man  might  love  me  for  myself,"  she 
murmured  pathetically,  "  and  if  he  loved  me  truly, 
that  he  would  marry  me.  If  he  woidd  not  marry 
me,  then  it  would  be  because  he  did  n't  love  me. 
I  '11  tell  George  my  secret.  If  he  leaves  me,  then 
he  does  not  love  me." 

But  this  resolution  vanished  into  thin  air  before 
it  was  fully  formulated.  The  secret  was  not  hers 
alone ;  it  involved  her  brother's  position,  to  whom 
she  owed  everything,  and  in  less  degree  the  future 
of  her  little  nephew,  whom  she  had  learned  to  love 
so  well.  She  had  the  choice  of  but  two  courses  of 
action,  to  marry  Tryon  or  to  dismiss  him.  The 
thought  that  she  might  lose  him  made  him  seem 
only  more  dear  ;  to  tliink  that  he  might  leave  her 
made  her  sick  at  heart.  In  one  week  she  was 
bound  to  give  him  an  answer;  he  was  more  likely 
to  ask  for  it  at  their  next  meeting. 


IX 

DOUBTS  AND  FEARS 

Rena's  heart  was  too  heavy  with  these  misgiv- 
ings for  her  to  keep  them  to  herself.  On  the 
morning  after  the  conversation  with  Tryon  in 
which  she  had  promised  him  an  answer  within  a 
week,  she  went  into  her  brother's  study,  where  he 
usually  spent  an  hour  after  breakfast  before  going 
to  his  office.  He  looked  up  amiably  from  the 
book  before  him  and  read  trouble  in  her  face. 

"  WeU,  Rena,  dear,"  he  asked  mth  a  smile, 
"  what  's  the  matter  ?  Is  there  anything  you 
want  —  money,  or  what  ?  I  should  like  to  have 
Aladdin's  lamp  —  though  I  'd  hardly  need  it  — 
that  you  might  have  no  wish  unsatisfied." 

He  had  found  her  very  backward  in  asking  for 
things  that  she  needed.  Generous  with  his  means, 
he  thought  nothing  too  good  for  her.  Her  success 
had  gratified  his  pride,  and  justified  his  course  m 
taking  her  under  his  protection. 

"  Thank  you,  John.  You  give  me  already  more 
than  I  need.  It  is  something  else,  John.  George 
wants  me  to  say  when  I  will  marry  him.  I  aui 
afraid  to  marry  him,  without  telling  him.  If  he 
should  find  out  afterwards,  he  might  cast  me  ofp. 


78        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

or  cease  to  love  me.  If  lie  did  not  know  it,  I 
should  be  forever  thinking  of  what  he  would  do  if 
he  should  find  it  out ;  or,  if  I  should  die  without 
his  having  learned  it,  I  shoidd  not  rest  easy  in 
my  grave  for  thinking  of  what  he  would  have 
done  if  he  had  found  it  out." 

Warwick's  smile  gave  place  to  a  gi^ave  expression 
at  this  somewhat  comprehensive  statement.  He 
rose  and  closed  the  door  carefully,  lest  some  one 
of  the  servants  might  overhear  the  conversation. 
More  liberally  endowed  than  Rena  with  imagina- 
tion, and  not  without  a  vein  of  sentiment,  he  had 
nevertheless  a  practical  side  that  outweighed  them 
both.  AVith  him,  the  problem  that  oppressed  his 
sister  had  been  in  the  main  a  matter  of  argument, 
of  self -conviction.  Once  persuaded  that  he  had 
certain  rights,  or  ought  to  have  them,  by  virtue  of 
the  laws  of  nature,  in  defiance  of  the  customs  of 
mankind,  he  had  promptly  sought  to  enjoy  them. 
Tliis  he  had  been  able  to  do  by  simply  concealing 
his  antecedents  and  making  the  most  of  his  oppor- 
tunities, with  no  troublesome  qualms  of  conscience 
whatever.  But  he  had  already  perceived,  in  their 
brief  intercourse,  that  Rena's  emotions,  while  less 
easily  stirred,  touched  a  deeper  note  than  his,  and 
dwelt  upon  it  with  greater  intensity  than  if  they 
had  been  spread  over  the  larger  field  to  which  a 
more  ready  sympathy  would  have  supplied  so  many 
points  of  access ;  —  hers  was  a  deep  and  silent  cur- 
rent flowing  between  the  narrow  walls  of  a  self- 
contained  life,  his  the   spreading  river  that  ran 


DOUBTS  AND  FEARS  79 

through  a  pleasant  landscape.  Warwick* s  imagi- 
nation, however,  enabled  him  to  put  himself  in  touch 
with  her  mood  and  recognize  its  bearings  upon  her 
conduct.  He  would  have  preferred  her  taking  the 
practical  point  of  view,  to  bring  her  round  to  which 
lie  perceived  would  be  a  matter  of  diplomacy, 

"  How  long  have  these  weighty  thoughts  been 
troubling  your  small  head  ?  "  he  asked  with  assmned 
lightness, 

"  Since  he  asked  me  last  night  to  name  our 
wedding  day." 

"  My  dear  child,"  continued  Warwick,  "  you  take 
too  tragic  a  view  of  life.  Marriage  is  a  reciprocal 
arrangement,  by  which  the  contracting  parties  give 
love  for  love,  care  for  keeping,  faith  for  faith.  It 
is  a  matter  of  the  future,  not  of  the  past.  What 
a  poor  soul  it  is  that  has  not  some  secret  chamber, 
sacred  to  itself  ;  where  one  can  file  away  the  things 
others  have  no  right  to  know,  as  well  as  things  that 
one  himself  would  fain  forget !  We  are  under  no 
moral  obligation  to  inflict  upon  others  the  history 
of  our  past  mistakes,  our  wayward  thoughts,  our 
secret  sins,  our  desperate  hopes,  or  our  heart- 
breaking disappointments.  Still  less  are  we  bound 
to  bring  out  from  this  secret  chamber  the  dusty 
record  of  our  ancestry. 

'Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.' 

George  Tryon  loves  you  for  yourseK  alone;  it  is 
not  your  ancestors  that  he  seeks  to  marry." 

"  But  would  he  marry  me  if  he  knew  ?  "  she 
persisted. 


80        THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

Warwick  paused  for  reflection.  He  would  have 
preferred  to  argue  the  question  in  a  general  way, 
but  felt  the  necessity  of  satisfying  her  scruples,  as 
far  as  might  be.  He  had  liked  Tryon  from  the 
very  beginning  of  their  acquaintance.  In  all  their 
intercourse,  which  had  been  very  close  for  several 
months,  he  had  been  impressed  by  the  young  man's 
sunny  temper,  his  straightforwardness,  his  intellec- 
tual honesty.  Tryon's  deference  to  Warwick  as 
the  elder  man  had  very  naturally  proved  an  attrac- 
tion. Whether  this  friendship  would  have  stood 
the  test  of  utter  frankness  about  his  own  past  was 
a  merely  academic  speculation  with  which  Warwick 
did  not  trouble  himself.  With  his  sister  the  ques- 
tion had  evidently  become  a  matter  of  conscience, 
—  a  difficult  subject  with  wliich  to  deal  in  a  j)er- 
son  of  Rena's  temperament. 

"  My  dear  sister,"  he  replied,  "  why  shoidd  he 
know  ?  We  have  n't  asked  him  for  his  pedigree  ; 
we  don't  care  to  know  it.  If  he  cares  for  ours,  he 
should  ask  for  it,  and  it  would  then  be  time  enough 
to  raise  the  question.  You  love  him,  I  imagine, 
and  wish  to  make  him  happy  ?  " 

It  is  the  hig-hest  wish  of  the  woman  who  loves. 
The  enamored  man  seeks  his  own  happiness  ;  the 
loving  woman  finds  no  sacrifice  too  great  for  the 
loved  one.  The  fiction  of  chivalry  made  man  serve 
woman ;  the  fact  of  human  nature  makes  woman 
happiest  when  serving  where  she  loves. 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  Rena  exclaimed  with  fervor, 
clasping  her  hands    unconsciously.     "  I  'm  afraid 


DOUBTS   AND  FEARS  81 

he  'd  be  unliappy  if  he  knew,  and  it  woidd  make  me 
miserable  to  think  him  unhappy." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  War\vick,  "  suppose  we 
should  tell  liim  our  secret  and  put  ourselves  in  his 
power,  and  that  he  should  then  conclude  that  he 
could  n't  marry  you  ?  Do  you  imagine  he  would  be 
any  happier  than  he  is  now,  or  than  if  he  should 
never  know  ?  " 

Ah,  no !  she  could  not  think  so.  One  could 
not  tear  love  out  of  one  's  heart  without  j^ain  and 
suffering. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Warwick 
opened  it  to  the  nurse,  who  stood  with  little  Albert 
in  her  arms. 

"  Please,  sidi,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  curtsy,  "  de 
baby 's  be'n  cryin'  an'  frettin'  fer  Miss  Rena,  an' 
I  'lowed  she  mought  want  me  ter  fetch  'im,  ef  it 
wouldn't  'sturb  her." 

"  Give  me  the  darling,"  exclaimed  Rena,  coming 
forward  and  taking  the  child  from  the  nurse.  "  It 
wants  its  auntie.  Come  to  its  aimtie,  bless  its 
little  heart ! " 

Little  Albert  crowed  with  pleasure  and  put  up 
his  pretty  mouth  for  a  kiss.  Warwick  found  the 
sight  a  pleasant  one.  If  he  could  but  quiet  his 
sister's  troublesome  scruples,  he  might  erelong  see 
her  fondling  beautiful  cliildren  of  her  own.  Even 
if  Rena  were  willing  to  risk  her  haj^piness,  and  he 
to  endanger  his  position,  by  a  quixotic  frankness, 
the  future  of  his  child  must  not  be  compromised. 

"  You  would  n't  want  to  make  George  unhappy," 


82         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

Warwick  resumed  when  the  nurse  retired.  "  Very 
well ;  would  you  not  be  willing,  for  his  sake,  to  keep 
a  secret  —  your  secret  and  mine,  and  that  of  the 
innocent  child  in  your  arms  ?  Would  you  involve 
all  of  us  in  difficulties  merely  to  secure  yoiu'  own 
peace  of  mind  ?  Does  n't  such  a  course  seem  just 
the  least  bit  selfish  ?  Think  the  matter  over  from 
that  point  of  view,  and  we  '11  sjieak  of  it  later  in  the 
day.  I  shall  be  with  George  all  the  morning,  and 
I  may  be  able,  by  a  little  management,  to  find  out 
his  views  on  the  subject  of  birth  and  family,  and 
all  that.  Some  men  are  very  liberal,  and  love  is  a 
great  leveler.     I  '11  sound  him,  at  any  rate." 

He  kissed  the  baby  and  left  Rena  to  her  own 
reflections,  to  which  his  presentation  of  the  case  had 
given  a  new  turn.  It  had  never  before  occurred  to 
her  to  regard  silence  in  the  light  of  seK-sacrifice. 
It  had  seemed  a  sort  of  sin  ;  her  brother's  argu- 
ment made  of  it  a  virtue.  It  was  not  the  first 
time,  nor  the  last,  that  right  and  wrong  had  been 
a  matter  of  view-point. 

Tryon  himself  furnished  the  opening  for  War- 
wick 's  proposed  examination.  The  younger  man 
could  not  long  remain  silent  upon  the  subject  upper- 
most in  his  mind.  "  I  am  anxious,  John,"  he  said, 
"'  to  have  Rowena  name  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life  —  our  wedding  day.  When  the  trial  in  Edge- 
combe County  is  finished,  I  shall  have  no  further 
business  here,  and  shall  be  ready  to  leave  for  home. 
I  should  like  to  take  my  bride  with  me,  and  surprise 
my  mother." 


DOUBTS  AND   FEARS  83 

Mothers,  tliought  Warwick,  are  likely  to  prove 
inquisitive  about  their  sons'  wives,  especially  when 
taken  unawares  in  matters  of  such  importance. 
This  seemed  a  good  time  to  test  the  liberality  of 
Tryon's  views,  and  to  put  forward  a  shield  for  his 
sister's  protection. 

"  Are  you  sure,  George,  that  your  mother  will 
find  the  surprise  agreeable  when  you  bring  home  a 
bride  of  whom  you  know  so  little  and  your  mother 
nothing  at  all?  " 

Tryon  had  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to  surprise 
his  mother.  She  would  need  only  to  see  Rena  to 
approve  of  her,  but  she  was  so  far  prejudiced  in 
favor  of  Blanche  Leary  that  it  would  be  wisest  to 
present  the  argument  after  having  announced  the 
irrevocable  conclusion.  Kena  herself  would  be  a 
complete  justification  for  the  accomplished  deed. 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  know,  George,"  continued 
Warwick,  without  waiting  for  a  reply  to  his  ques- 
tion, "  that  my  sister  and  I  are  not  of  an  old  famil}^, 
or  a  rich  family,  or  a  distinguished  family ;  that 
she  can  bring  you  nothing  but  herself ;  that  we 
have  no  connections  of  which  you  could  boast,  and 
no  relatives  to  whom  we  should  be  glad  to  introduce 
you.  You  must  take  us  for  ourselves  alone  —  we 
are  new  people." 

"  My  dear  John,"  replied  the  young  man 
warmly,  "  there  is  a  great  deal  of  nonsense  about 
famihes.  If  a  man  is  noble  and  brave  and 
strong,  if  a  woman  is  beautiful  and  good  and  true, 
what  matters  it  about  his  or  her  ancestry?     If  an 


84        THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

old  family  can  give  them  these  things,  then  it  is 
valuable  ;  if  they  possess  them  without  it,  then  of 
what  use  is  it,  except  as  a  source  of  empty  pride, 
which  they  would  be  better  without  ?  If  all  new 
famihes  were  like  yours,  there  would  be  no  advan- 
tage in  belonging  to  an  old  one.  All  I  care  to 
know  of  Rowena's  family  is  that  she  is  your  sister ; 
and  you  '11  pardon  me,  old  fellow,  if  I  add  that  she 
hardly  needs  even  you,  —  she  carries  the  stamp  of 
her  descent  upon  her  face  and  in  her  heart." 

"  It  makes  me  glad  to  hear  you  speak  in  that 
way,"  returned  Warwick,  delighted  by  the  young 
man's  breadth  and  earnestness. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  every  word  of  it,"  replied  Tryon. 
"  Ancestors,  indeed,  for  Rowena !  I  will  tell  you 
a  family  secret,  John,  to  prove  how  httle  I  care  for 
ancestors.  My  maternal  great-great-grandfather,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  was  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  for  stealing  cattle  across  the  Scot- 
tish border.  How  is  that  for  a  pedigree  ?  Behold 
in  me  the  lineal  descendant  of  a  felon !  " 

Warwick  felt  much  relieved  at  this  avowal. 
His  own  statement  had  not  touched  the  vital  point 
involved  ;  it  had  been  at  the  best  but  a  half-truth ; 
but  Tryon's  magnanimity  would  doubtless  protect 
Rena  from  any  close  inquiry  concerning  her  past. 
It  even  occurred  to  Warwick  for  a  moment  that 
he  might  safely  disclose  the  secret  to  Tryon  ;  but 
an  appreciation  of  certain  facts  of  history  and 
certain  traits  of  human  nature  constrained  him 
to  put  the  momentary  thought  aside.     It  was  a 


DOUBTS  AND  FEARS  85 

gTeat  relief,  however,  to  imagine  that  Tryon  might 
think  lightly  of  this  thing  that  he  need  never 
know. 

"  Well,  Rena,"  he  said  to  his  sister  when  he 
went  home  at  noon  :   "  I  've  sounded  Georsfe." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  told  him  we  were  people  of  no  family,  and 
that  we  had  no  relatives  that  we  were  proud  of. 
He  said  he  loved  you  for  yourself,  and  would 
never  ask  you  about  your  ancestry." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad !  "  exclaimed  Rena  joyfully. 
This  report  left  her  very  happy  for  about  three 
hours,  or  until  she  began  to  analyze  carefully  her 
brother's  account  of  what  had  been  said.  War- 
wick's statement  had  not  been  specific,  —  he  had 
not  told  Tryon  the  thing.  George's  reply,  in  turn, 
had  been  a  mere  generality.  The  concrete  fact 
that  oppressed  her  remained  uurevealed,  and  her 
doubt  was  still  unsatisfied. 

Rena  was  occupied  with  tliis  thought  when  her 
lover  next  came  to  see  her.  Tryon  came  up  the 
sanded  walk  from  the  gate  and  spoke  pleasantly 
to  the  nurse,  a  good-looking  yellow  girl  who  was 
seated  on  the  front  steps,  playing  with  httle 
Albert.  He  took  the  boy  from  her  arms,  and 
she  went  to  call  Miss  Warwick. 

Rena  came  out,  followed  by  the  nurse,  who 
offered  to  take  the  child. 

"  Never  mind,  Mimy,  leave  him  with  me,"  said 
Tryon. 

The  nurse  walked  discreetly  over  into  the  gar- 


r' 


86         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

den,  remaining  within  call,  but  beyond  tlie  hear- 
ing of  conversation  in  an  ordinary  tone. 

"  Rena,  darling,"  said  her  lover,  ''  when  shall 
it  be  ?  Surely  you  won't  ask  me  to  wait  a  week. 
Why,  that 's  a  lifetime  !  " 

Rena  was  struck  by  a  brilliant  idea.  She 
would  test  her  lover.  Love  was  a  very  powerful 
force ;  she  had  found  it  the  greatest,  grandest, 
sweetest  thing  in  the  world.  Tryon  had  said  that 
he  loved  her  ;  he  had  said  scarcely  anything  else 
for  several  weeks,  surely  nothing  else  worth  re- 
membering. She  would  test  his  love  by  a  hypo- 
thetical question. 

"  You  say  you  love  me,"  she  said,  glancing  at 
him  with  a  sad  thought  fulness  in  her  large  dark 
eyes.     "  How  much  do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  love  you  all  one  can  love.  True  love  has  no 
degrees  ;   it  is  all  or  nothing !  " 

"Would  you  love  me,"  she  asked,  with  an  air 
of  coquetry  that  masked  her  concern,  pointing 
toward  the  girl  in  the  shrubbery,  "if  I  were 
Albert's  nurse  yonder?" 

"  If  you  were  Albert's  nurse,"  he  replied,  with 
a  joyous  laugh,  "  he  would  have  to  find  another 
within  a  week,  for  within  a  week  we  should  be 
married." 

The  answer  seemed  to  fit  the  question,  but  in 
fact,  Tryon's  mind  and  Rena's  did  not  meet.  That 
two  intelligent  persons  should  each  attach  a  differ- 
ent meaning  to  so  simple  a  form  of  words  as 
Rena's  question  was  the  best  ground  for  her  mis- 


DOUBTS  AND  FEARS  87 

giving  with  regard  to  the  marriage.  But  love 
blinded  her.  She  was  anxious  to  be  convincedo 
She  interpreted  the  meaning  of  his  sjDeeeh  by  her 
own  thought  and  by  the  ardor  of  his  glance,  and 
was  satisfied  with  the  answer. 

"  And  now,  darling,"  pleaded  Tryon,  "  will  you 
not  fix  the  day  that  shall  make  me  happy  ?  I 
shall  be  ready  to  go  away  in  three  weeks.  Will 
you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  a  tumult  of  joy.  She 
would  never  need  to  tell  him  her  secret  now.  It 
would  make  no  difference  with  him,  so  far  as  she 
was  concerned ;  and  she  had  no  right  to  reveal  her 
brother's  secret.  She  was  willing  to  bury  the  past 
in  forgetfulness,  now  that  she  knew  it  would  have 
no  interest  for  her  lover. 


X 

THE   DREAM 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  tlie  tliirtietli  of  tlie 
month,  immediately  after  which  Trj^on  and  his 
bride  were  to  set  out  for  North  Carolina.  War- 
wick would  have  liked  it  much  if  Tryon  had 
lived  in  South  Carolina  ;  but  the  location  of  his 
North  Carolma  home  was  at  some  distance  from 
Patesville,  with  which  it  had  no  connection  by 
steam  or  rail,  and  indeed  lay  altogether  out  of  the 
line  of  travel  to  Patesville.  Rena  had  no  acquaint- 
ance with  people  of  social  standing  in  North  Car- 
olina ;  and  with  the  added  maturity  and  charm 
due  to  her  improved  opportunities,  it  was  unlikely 
that  any  former  resident  of  Patesville  who  might 
casually  meet  her  would  see  in  the  elegant  young 
matron  from  South  Carolina  more  than  a  passing 
resemblance  to  a  poor  girl  who  had  once  lived  in  an 
obscure  part  of  the  old  town.  It  would  of  course 
be  necessary  for  Rena  to  keep  away  from  Pates- 
ville ;  save  for  her  mother's  sake,  she  would  hardly 
be  tempted  to  go  back. 

On  the  twentieth  of  the  month,  Warwick  set 
out  with  Tryon  for  the  county  seat  of  the  adjoin- 
ing county,  to  try  one  of  the  lawsuits  which  had 


THE   DREAM  89 

required  Tryon's  presence  in  Soatli  Carolina  for 
so  long  a  time.  Their  destination  was  a  day's 
drive  from  Clarence,  behind  a  good  horse,  and  the 
trial  was  expected  to  last  a  week. 

"  This  week  will  seem  like  a  year,"  said  Try  on 
ruefull}^,  the  evening  before  their  departure,  "•  but 
I  '11  write  every  day,  and  shall  expect  a  letter  as 
often." 

"  The  mail  goes  only  twice  a  week,  George," 
replied  Rena. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  three  letters  in  each  mail." 

Warwick  and  Tryon  were  to  set  out  in  the  cool 
of  the  morning,  after  an  early  breakfast.  Rena 
was  uj)  at  daybreak  that  she  might  preside  at  the 
breakfast-table  and  bid  the  travelers  good-by. 

"  John,"  said  Rena  to  her  brother  in  the  morn- 
ing, "  I  dreamed  last  night  that  mother  was  ill." 

"  Dreams,  you  know,  Rena,"  answered  War- 
wick lightly,  "  go  by  contraries.  Yours  undoubt- 
edly signifies  that  our  mother,  God  bless  her 
simple  sold  !  is  at  the  present  moment  enjoying 
her  usual  perfect  health.  She  was  never  sick  in 
her  life." 

For  a  few  months  after  leading  PatesAalle  with 
her  brother,  Rena  had  suffered  tortures  of  home- 
sickness ;  those  who  have  felt  it  know  the  pang. 
The  severance  of  old  ties  had  been  abrupt  and 
complete.  At  the  school  where  her  brother  had 
taken  her,  there  had  been  nothing  to  relieve  the 
strangeness  of  her  surroundings  —  no  schoolmate 
from  her  own  town,  no  relative  or  friend  of  the 


90        THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

family  near  by.  Even  the  compensation  of  human 
sympatiiy  was  in  a  measure  denied  her,  for  Rena 
was  too  fresh  from  her  prison-house  to  doubt  that 
sympathy  would  fail  before  the  revelation  of 
the  secret  the  consciousness  of  which  oppressed 
her  at  that  time  like  a  nightmare.  It  was  not 
strange  that  Rena,  thus  isolated,  should  have  been 
prostrated  by  homesickness  for  several  weeks 
after  leaving*  Patesville.  When  the  paroxysm 
had  passed,  there  followed  a  dull  pain,  which  grad- 
ually subsided  into  a  resignation  as  profound,  in 
its  way,  as  had  been  her  longing  for  home.  She 
loved,  she  suffered,  with  a  quiet  intensity  of  which 
her  outward  demeanor  gave  no  adequate  expres- 
sion. From  some  ancestral  source  she  had  derived 
a  strain  of  the  passive  fatalism  by  which  alone 
one  can  submit  uncomplainingly  to  the  inevitable. 
By  the  same  token,  when  once  a  thing  had  been 
decided,  it  became  with  her  a  fmality,  which  only 
some  extraordinary  stress  of  emotion  could  dis- 
turb. She  had  acquiesced  in  her  brother's  plan ; 
for  her  there  was  no  withdrawing ;  her  homesick- 
ness was  an  incidental  thing  which  must  be  en- 
dured, as  patiently  as  might  be,  until  time  should 
have  brought  a  measure  of  relief. 

Warwick  had  made  provision  for  an  occasional 
letter  from  Pates\dlle,  by  leaving  with  his  mother  a 
number  of  envelopes  directed  to  his  address.  She 
could  have  her  letters  written,  inclose  them  in 
these  envelopes,  and  deposit  them  in  the  post- 
office  with  her  own  hand.    Thus  the  place  of  War- 


THE  DREAM  91 

wick's  residence  would  remain  within  her  own 
knowledge,  and  his  secret  would  not  be  placed  at 
the  mercy  of  any  wandering  Patesvillian  who 
might  perchance  go  to  that  part  of  South  Carolina. 
By  this  simple  means  Rena  had  kept  as  closely  in 
touch  with  her  mother  as  Warwick  had  considered 
prudent ;  any  closer  intercourse  was  not  consistent 
with  their  present  station  in  life. 

The  night  after  Warwick  and  Tryon  had  rid- 
den away,  Rena  dreamed  again  that  her  mother 
was  ill.  Better  taught  people  than  she,  in  regions 
more  enlightened  than  the  South  Carolina  of  that 
epoch,  are  disturbed  at  times  by  dreams.  Mis' 
Molly  had  a  profound  faith  in  them.  If  God,  in 
ancient  times,  had  spoken  to  men  in  visions  of  the 
night,  what  easier  way  could  there  be  for  Him  to 
convey  his  meaning  to  people  of  all  ages  ?  Science, 
which  has  shattered  many  an  idol  and  destroyed 
many  a  delusion,  has  made  but  slight  inroads 
upon  the  shadowy  realm  of  dreams.  For  Mis' 
Molly,  to  whom  science  would  have  meant  nothing 
and  psychology  would  have  been  a  meaningless 
term,  the  land  of  dreams  was  carefully  mapped 
and  bounded.  Each  dream  had  some  special  sig- 
nificance, or  was  at  least  susceptible  of  classification 
under  some  significant  head.  Dreams,  as  a  general 
rule,  went  by  contraries  ;  but  a  dream  three  times 
repeated  was  a  certain  portent  of  the  thing  de- 
fined. Rena's  few  years  of  schooling  at  Pates- 
viUe  and  her  months  at  Charleston  had  scarcely  dis- 
turbed these  hoary  superstitions  which  lurk  in  the 


92         THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

dim  corners  of  the  brain.  No  lady  in  Clarence,  per- 
haps, woidd  have  remained  undisturbed  by  a  vivid 
dream,  three  times  repeated,  of  some  event  bear- 
ing materially  upon  her  own  life. 

The  first  repetition  of  a  dream  was  decisive  of 
nothing,  for  two  dreams  meant  no  more  than  one. 
The  power  of  the  second  lay  in  the  suspense,  the 
uncertainty,  to  which  it  gave  rise.  Two  doubled 
the  chance  of  a  third.  The  day  following  this 
second  dream  was  an  anxious  one  for  Rena.  She 
could  not  for  an  instant  dismiss  her  mother  from 
her  thoughts,  which  were  filled  too  with  a  certain 
self-reproach.  She  had  left  her  mother  alone;  if 
her  mother  were  really  ill,  there  w^as  no  one  at  home 
to  tend  her  with  loving  care.  This  feeling  grew 
in  force,  until  by 'nightfall  Rena  had  become  very 
unhappy,  and  went  to  bed  with  the  most  dismal 
forebodino^s.  In  .this  state  of  mind,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising  that  she  now  dreamed  that  her  mother  w^as 
lying  at  the  point  of  death,  and  that  she  cried  out 
with  heart-rending  pathos  :  —    ** 

"  Rena,  my  darlin',  why  did  you  forsake  yo'r 
pore  old  mother  ?  Come  back  to  me,  honey  ;  I  '11 
die  ef  I  don't  see  you  soon." 

The  stress  of  subconscious  emotion  engendered 
by  the  dream  was  powerful  enough  to  wake  Rena, 
and  her  mother's  utterance  seemed  to  come  to  her 
with  the  force  of  a  fateful  warning  and  a  great 
reproach.  Her  mother  was  sick  and  needed  her, 
and  would  die  if  she  did  not  come.  She  felt  that 
she  must  see  her  mother,  —  it  would   be  almost 


THE  DREAM  93 

like  murder  to  remain  away  from  her  under  such 
circumstances. 

After  breakfast  she  went  into  the  business  part 
of  the  to^vn  and  inquired  at  what  time  a  train 
would  leave  that  would  take  her  toward  Patesville. 
Since  she  had  come  away  from  the  town,  a  rail- 
road had  been  opened  by  which  the  long  river 
voyage  might  be  avoided,  and,  making  allowance 
for  slow  trains  and  irregular  connections,  the  town 
of  Patesville  could  be  reached  by  an  all-rail  route 
in  about  twelve  hours.  Calling  at  the  post-office 
for  the  family  mail,  she  found  there  a  letter  from 
her  mother,  which  she  tore  open  in  great  excite- 
ment. It  was  written  in  an  unpracticed  hand  and 
badly  spelled,  and  was  in  effect  as  follows :  — 

My  dear  Daughter,  —  I  take  my  pen  in  hand 
to  let  you  know  that  I  am  not  very  well.  I  have 
had  a  kind  of  misery  n  my  side  for  two  weeks, 
with  palpitations  of  the  heart,  and  I  have  been  in 
bed  for  three  days.  I  'm  feeling  mighty  poorly,  but 
Dr.  Green  says  that  I  '11  get  over  it  in  a  few  days. 
Old  Aunt  Zilphy  is  staying  with  me,  and  looking 
after  things  tolerably  well.  I  hope  this  will  find 
you  and  John  enjoying  good  health.  Give  my 
love  to  John,  and  I  hope  the  Lord  will  bless  him 
and  you  too.  Cousin  Billy  Oxendine  has  had  a 
rising  on  his  neck,  and  has  had  to  have  it  lanced. 
Mary  B.  has  another  young  one,  a  boy  this  time. 
Old  man  Tom  Johnson  was  killed  last  week  while 
trymg  to  whip  black  Jim  Brown,  who  lived  down 


94         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

on  the  Wilmington  Road.  Jim  has  run  away. 
There  has  been  a  big  freshet  in  the  river,  and  it 
looked  at  one  time  as  if  the  new  bridge  would  be 
washed  away. 

Frank  comes  over  every  day  or  two  and  asks 
about  you.  He  says  to  tell  you  that  he  don't  be- 
lieve you  are  coming  back  any  more,  but  you  are 
to  remember  him,  and  that  foolishness  he  said 
about  bringing  you  back  from  the  end  of  the 
world  with  his  mule  and  cart.  He  's  very  good  to 
me,  and  brings  over  shavings  and  kindling-wood, 
and  made  me  a  new  well-bucket  for  nothing.  It 's 
a  comfort  to  talk  to  him  about  you,  though  I 
have  n't  told  him  where  you  are  living. 

I  hope  this  will  find  you  and  John  both  well, 
and  doing  well.  I  should  like  to  see  you,  but  if 
it 's  the  Lord's  will  that  I  should  n't,  I  shall  be 
thankfid  anyway  that  you  have  done  what  was 
the  best  for  yourselves  and  your  children,  and  that 
I  have  given  you  up  for  your  own.  good. 
Your  affectionate  mother, 

Mary  Walden. 

Rena  shed  tears  over  this  simple  letter,  which, 
to  her  excited  imagination,  merely  confirmed  the 
warning  of  her  dream.  At  the  date  of  its  writing 
her  mother  had  been  sick  in  bed,  with  the  symp- 
toms of  a  serious  illness.  She  had  no  nurse  but  a 
purblind  old  woman.  Three  days  of  progressive 
ilhiess  had  evidently  been  quite  sufficient  to  reduce 
her  parent  to  the  condition  indicated  by  the  third 


THE   DREAM  95 

dream.  The  thought  that  her  mother  might  die 
without  the  presence  of  any  one  who  loved  her 
pierced  Rena's  heart  like  a  knife  and  lent  wings 
to  her  feet.  She  wished  for  the  enchanted  horse 
of  which  her  brother  had  read  to  her  so  many 
years  before  on  the  front  piazza  of  the  house  be- 
hind the  cedars,  that  she  might  fly  through  the  air 
to  her  dying  mother's  side.  She  determined  to  go 
at  once  to  Patesville. 

Eeturning  home,  she  wrote  a  letter  to  Warwick 
inclosing  their  mother's  letter,  and  stating  that 
she  had  dreamed  an  alarming  di'eam  for  three 
nights  in  succession ;  that  she  had  left  the  house  in 
charge  of  the  servants  and  gone  to  Patesville ;  and 
that  she  would  return  as  soon  as  her  mother  was 
out  of  danger. 

To  her  lover  she  wrote  that  she  had  been  called 
away  to  visit  a  sick-bed,  and  would  return  very 
soon,  perhaps  by  the  time  he  got  back  to  Clarence. 
These  letters  Rena  posted  on  her  way  to  the  train, 
which  she  took  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
This  would  bring  her  to  Patesville  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  following  day. 


XI 

A   LETTER   AND   A   JOURNEY 

War  has  been  called  the  court  of  last  resort. 
A  lawsuit  may  with  equal  aptness  be  compared  to 
a  battle  —  the  parallel  might  be  drawn  very  closely 
all  along  the  line.  First  we  have  the  casus  helli, 
the  cause  of  action  ;  then  the  various  protocols  and 
proclamations  and  general  orders,  by  way  of  pleas, 
demurrers,  and  motions  ;  then  the  preliminary 
skirmishes  at  the  trial  table  ;  and  then  the  final 
struggle,  in  which  might  is  quite  as  likely  to  pre- 
vail as  right,  victory  most  often  resting  with  the 
strongest  battalions,  and  truth  and  justice  not 
seldom  overborne  by  the  weight  of  odds  upon  the 
other  side. 

The  lawsuit  which  Warwick  and  Tryon  had 
gone  to  try  did  not,  however,  reach  this  ultimate 
stage,  but,  after  a  three  days'  engagement,  resulted 
in  a  treaty  of  peace.  The  case  was  compromised 
and  settled,  and  Tryon  and  Warwick  set  out  on 
their  homeward  drive.  They  stopped  at  a  farm- 
house at  noon,  and  while  at  table  saw  the  stage- 
coach from  the  town  they  had  just  left,  bound  for 
their  own  destination.  In  the  mail-bag  under  the 
driver's  seat  were  Rena's  two  letters  ;   they  had 


A  LETTER  AND  A  JOURNEY  97 

been  delivered  at  the  town  in  the  morning,  and 
immediately  remailed  to  Clarence,  in  accordance 
with  orders  left  at  the  post-office  the  evening  be- 
fore. Tryon  and  Warwick  drove  leisurely  home- 
ward through  the  pines,  all  unconscious  of  the  fate- 
ful squares  of  white  paper  mo\T[ng  along  the  road 
a  few  miles  before  them,  which  a  mother's  yearning 
and  a  daughter's  love  had  thrown,  like  the  apple  of 
discord,  into  the  narrow  circle  of  their  happiness. 

They  reached  Clarence  at  four  o'clock.  War- 
wick got  down  from  the  buggy  at  his  office.  Tryon 
drove  on  to  his  hotel,  to  make  a  hasty  toilet  before 
visiting  his  sweetheart. 

Warwick  glanced  at  his  mail,  tore  open  the 
envelope  addressed  in  his  sister's  handwriting,  and 
read  the  contents  with  something  Hke  dismay. 
She  had  gone  away  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding,  her 
lover  knew  not  where,  to  be  gone  no  one  knew 
how  long,  on  a  mission  which  could  not  be  frankly 
disclosed.  A  dim  foreboding  of  disaster  flashed 
across  his  mind.  He  thrust  the  letter  into  his 
pocket,  "svith  others  yet  unopened,  and  started 
tow^ard  his  home.  Reaching  the  gate,  he  paused  a 
moment  and  then  walked  on  past  the  house.  Tryon 
would  probably  be  there  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
he  did  not  care  to  meet  him  without  first  having 
had  the  opportunity  for  some  moments  of  reflec- 
tion. He  must  fix  upon  some  fine  of  action  in  tliis 
emergency. 

Meanwhile  Tryon  had  reached  his  hotel  and 
opened  his  mail.     The  letter  from  Rena  was  read 


98         THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

first,  with  profound  disappointment.  He  had 
really  made  concessions  in  the  settlement  of  that 
lawsuit  —  had  yielded  several  hundred  dollars  of 
his  just  dues,  in  order  that  he  might  get  back  to 
Rena  three  days  earlier.  Now  he  must  cool  his 
i  heels  in  idleness  for  at  least  three  days  before  she 
would  return.  It  was  annoying,  to  say  the  least. 
He  wished  to  know  where  she  had  gone,  that  he 
might  follow  her  and  stay  near  her  mitil  she  should 
be  ready  to  come  back.  He  might  ask  Warwick  — 
no,  she  might  have  had  some  good  reason  for  not 
having  mentioned  her  destination.  She  had  prob- 
ably gone  to  visit  some  of  the  poor  relations  of 
whom  her  brother  had  spoken  so  frankly,  and  she 
would  doubtless  prefer  that  he  should  not  see  her 
amid  any  surroundings  but  the  best.  Indeed,  he 
did  not  know  that  he  would  himself  care  to  endan- 
ger, by  suggestive  comparisons,  the  fine  aureole  of 
superiority  that  surrounded  her.  She  represented 
in  her  adorable  person  and  her  pure  heart  the 
finest  flower  of  the  finest  race  that  God  had  ever 
made  —  the  supreme  effort  of  creative  power,  than 
which  there  could  be  no  finer.  The  flower  would 
soon  be  his  ;  why  should  he  care  to  dig  up  the  soil 
in  which  it  grew  ? 

Tryon  went  on  opening  his  letters.  There  were 
several  bills  and  circulars,  and  then  a  letter  from 
his  mother,  of  which  he  broke  the  seal :  — 

My  dearest  George,  —  This  leaves  us  weU. 
Blanche  is  still  with  me,  and  we  are  impatiently 


;J 


A  LETTER  AND  A  JOURNEY  99 

awaiting  your  return.  In  your  absence  she  seems 
almost  like  a  daughter  to  me.  She  joins  me  in 
the  hope  that  your  lawsuits  are  progressing  favor- 
ably, and  that  you  will  be  with  us  soon.   .   .  . 

On  your  way  home,  if  it  does  not  keep  you 
away  from  us  too  long,  would  it  not  be  well  for 
you  to  come  by  way  of  Patesville,  and  find  out 
whether  there  is  any  j^rospect  of  our  being  able 
to  collect  our  claim  against  old  Mr.  Duncan  Mc- 
Swayne's  estate  ?  You  must  have  taken  the  papers 
with  you,  along  with  the  rest,  for  I  do  not  find 
them  here.  Things  ought  to  be  settled  enough  now 
for  people  to  realize  on  some  of  their  securities. 
Your  grandfather  always  believed  the  note  was 
good,  and  meant  to  try  to  collect  it,  but  the  war 
interfered.  He  said  to  me,  before  he  died,  that  if 
the  note  was  ever  collected,  he  would  use  the  money 
to  buy  a  wedding  present  for  your  wife.  Poor 
father  !  he  is  dead  and  gone  to  heaven  ;  but  I  am 
sure  that  even  there  he  would  be  happier  if  he 
knew  the  note  was  paid  and  the  money  used  as  he 
intended. 

If  you  go  to  Patesville,  call  on  my  cousin.  Dr. 
Ed.  Green,  and  tell  him  who  you  are.  Give  him 
my  love.  I  have  n't  seen  him  for  twenty  years. 
He  used  to  be  very  fond  of  the  ladies,  a  very  gal- 
lant man.  He  can  direct  you  to  a  good  lawyer, 
no  doubt.     Hoping  to  see  you  soon. 

Your  loving  mother, 

Elizabeth  Tryon. 

P.  S.    Blanche  joins  me  in  lov^e  to  you. 


<^ 


100       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

This  affectionate  and  motherly  letter  did  not 
give  Tryon  unalloyed  satisfaction.  He  was  glad 
to  hear  that  his  mother  was  well,  but  he  had 
ho23ed  that  Blanche  Leary  might  have  finished  her 
visit  by  this  time.  The  reasonable  inference  from 
the  letter  was  that  Blanche  meant  to  await  his 
return.  Her  presence  would  spoil  the  fine  roman- 
tic flavor  of  the  surprise  he  had  planned  for  his 
mother  ;  it  w^ould  never  do  to  expose  his  bride  to 
an  unannounced  meeting  with  the  woman  whom  he 
had  tacitly  rejected.  There  would  be  one  advan- 
tage in  such  a  meeting :  the  com23arison  of  the 
two  women  would  be  so  much  in  Rena's  favor 
that  his  mother  could  not  hesitate  for  a  moment 
between  them.  The  situation,  however,  would 
have  elements  of  constraint,  and  he  did  not  care 
to  expose  either  Rena  or  Blanche  to  any  disagree- 
able contingency.  It  would  be  better  to  take  his 
wife  on  a  wedding  trip,  and  notify  his  mother,  be- 
fore he  returned  home,  of  his  marriage.  In  the 
extremely  improbable  case  that  she  should  disap- 
prove his  choice  after  having  seen  his  wife,  the  ice 
would  at  least  have  been  broken  before  his  arrival 
at  home. 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  striking 
his  knee  with  his  hand,  "  why  should  n't  I  run  up 
to  Patesville  while  Rena  's  gone  ?  I  can  leave  here 
at  five  o'clock,  and  get  there  some  time  to-morrow 
morning.  I  can  transact  my  business  during  the 
day,  and  get  back  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  for 
Rena  might  return  ahead  of  time,  just  as  we  did,  and 


A  LETTER  AND   A  JOURNEY  101 

I  shall  want  to  be  here  when  she  comes  ;  I  'd  rather 
wait  a  year  for  a  legal  opinion  on  a  doubtful  old 
note  than  to  lose  one  day  with  my  love.  The 
train  goes  in  twenty  minutes.  My  bag  is  already 
packed.  I  '11  just  drop  a  line  to  George  and  tell 
him  where  I  've  gone." 

He  put  Rena's  letter  into  his  breast  pocket,  and 
turning  to  his  trunk,  took  from  it  a  handful  of 
papers  relating  to  the  claim  in  reference  to  which 
he  was  going  to  Patesville.  These  he  thrust  into 
the  same  pocket  with  Rena's  letter ;  he  ^\dshed  to 
read  both  letter  and  papers  while  on  the  train.  It 
would  be  a  pleasure  merely  to  hold  the  letter  before 
his  eyes  and  look  at  the  lines  traced  by  her  hand. 
The  papers  he  wished  to  study,  for  the  more  prac- 
tical purpose  of  examining  into  the  merits  of  his 
claim  against  the  estate  of  Duncan  McSwayne. 

When  Warwick  reached  home,  he  inquired  if 
Mr.  Trvon  had  called. 

"  No,  suh,"  answered  the  nurse,  to  whom  he  had 
put  the  question ;   "he  ain't  be'n  here  yet,  suh." 

Warwick  was  surprised  and  much  disturbed. 

"  De  baby 's  be'n  cryin'  for  Miss  Rena,"  sug- 
gested the  nurse,  "  an'  I  s'pec'  he  'd  like  to  see  you, 
suh.     Shall  I  fetch  'im?" 

"  Yes,  bring  him  to  me." 

He  took  the  child  in  his  arms  and  went  out  upon 
the  piazza.  Several  porch  pillows  lay  invitingly 
near.  He  pushed  them  toward  the  steps  with  his 
foot,  sat  down  upon  one,  and  placed  little  Albert 
upon  a^pther.     He  was    scarcely    seated  when  a 


102       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

messenger  from  tlie  hotel  came  up  the  walk  from 
the  o'ate  and  handed  him  a  note.  At  the  same 
moment  he  heard  the  long  shriek  of  the  afternoon 
train  leaving  the  station  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
town. 

He  tore  the  envelope  open  anxiously,  read  the 
note,  smiled  a  sickly  smile,  and  clenched  the  paper 
in  his  hand  unconsciously.  There  was  nothing  he 
could  do.  The  train  had  gone  ;  there  was  no 
telegraph  to  Patesville,  and  no  letter  could  leave 
Clarence  for  twenty-four  hours.  The  best  laid 
schemes  go  wrong  at  times  —  the  stanchest  ships 
are  sometimes  wrecked,  or  skirt  the  breakers 
perilously.  Life  is  a  sea,  full  of  strange  currents 
and  uncharted  reefs  —  whoever  leaves  the  traveled 
path  must  run  the  danger  of  destruction.  War- 
wick was  a  lawyer,  however,  and  accustomed  to 
balance  probabilities. 

"  He  may  easily  be  in  Patesville  a  day  or  two 
without  meeting  her.  She  will  spend  most  of  her 
time  at  mother's  bedside,  and  he  will  be  occupied 
with  his  own  affairs." 

If  Try  on  should  meet  her  —  well,  he  was  very 
much  in  love,  and  he  had  spoken  very  nobly  of 
birth  and  blood.  Warwick  would  have  preferred, 
nevertheless,  that  Tryon  's  theories  should  not  be 
put  to  this  particular  test.  Rena's  scruples  had  so 
far  been  successfully  combated  ;  the  question  would 
be  opened  again,  and  the  situation  unnecessarily 
complicated,  if  Tryon  should  meet  Rena  in  Pates- 
ville. 


A  LETTER  AND  A  JOURNEY  103 

"  AVill  he  or  will  lie  not  ?  "  lie  asked  himseK. 
He  took  a  coin  from  his  pocket  and  spun  it  upon 
the  floor.  "  Heads,  he  sees  her ;  tails,  he  does 
not." 

The  coin  spun  s^vdftly  and  steadily,  leaving  upon 
the  eye  the  impression  of  a  revolving  sphere.  Little 
Albert,  left  for  a  moment  to  his  own  devices,  had 
crept  behind  his  father  and  was  watching  the  whirl- 
ing disk  wdtli  great  pleasure.  He  felt  that  he  would 
like  to  possess  this  interesting  object.  The  coin 
began  to  move  more  slowly,  and  was  wabbling  to  its 
fall,  when  the  child  stretched  forth  his  chubby  fist 
and  caught  it  ere  it  touched  the  floor. 


XII 

TKYON    GOES    TO    PATESVILLE 

Teyon  arrived  in  the  early  morning  and  put 
lip  at  the  Patesville  Hotel,  a  very  comfortable  inn. 
After  a  bath,  breakfast,  and  a  visit  to  the  barber- 
shop, he  inquired  of  the  hotel  clerk  the  way  to  the 
office  of  Dr.  Green,  his  mother  's  cousin. 

"  On  the  corner,  sir,"  answered  the  clerk,  "  by  the 
market-house,  just  over  the  drugstore.  The  doctor 
drove  past  here  only  half  an  hour  ago.  You  'H 
probably  catch  him  in  his  office." 

Tryon  found  the  office  without  difficulty.  He 
chmbed  the  stair,  but  found  no  one  in  except  a 
young  colored  man  seated  in  the  outer  offi('e,  who 
rose  promptly  as  Tryon  entered. 

"  No,  suh,"  replied  the  man  to  Tryon's  question, 
"  he  ain't  hyuh  now.  He  's  gone  out  to  see  a 
patient,  suh,  but  he  '11  be  back  soon.  Won't  you 
set  down  in  de  private  office  an'  wait  fer  'im,  suh?  " 
Tryon  had  not  slept  well  during  his  journey,  and 
felt  somewhat  fatigued.  Through  the  open  door 
of  the  next  room  he  saw  an  inviting  armchair, 
with  a  window  at  one  side,  and  upon  the  other  a 
table  strewn  with  papers  and  magazines. 
"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  '11  wait." 


TRYON  GOES  TO  PATESVILLE  105 

He  entered  tlie  private  office,  sank  into  tlie  arm- 
chair, and  looked  out  of  the  window  upon  the  square 
below.  The  view  was  mildly  interesting.  The  old 
brick  market-house  with  the  tower  was  quite  pictur- 
esque. On  a  wagon-scale  at  one  end  the  public 
weighmaster  was  weighing  a  load  of  hay.  In  the 
booths  under  the  wide  arches  several  old  negro 
women  were  frying  fish  on  little  charcoal  stoves  — 
the  odor  would  have  been  appetizing  to  one  who 
had  not  breakfasted.  On  the  shady  side  stood  half 
a  dozen  two-wheeled  carts,  loaded  with  lightwood 
and  drawn  by  diminutive  steers,  or  superannuated 
army  mules  brandecT  on  the  flank  with  the  cabalis- 
tic letters  "C.  S.  A.,"  which  represented  a  vanished 
dream,  or  "  U.  S.  A.,"  which,  as  any  negro  about 
the  market-house  would  have  borne  witness,  signified 
a  very  concrete  fact.  Now  and  then  a  lady  or  gen- 
tleman passed  with  leisurely  step  —  no  one  ever  hur- 
ried in  Patesville  —  or  some  poor  white  sandhiller 
slouched  listlessly  along  toward  store  or  bar-room. 

Tryon  mechanically  counted  the  slabs  of  ginger- 
bread on  the  nearest  market-stall,  and  calculated 
the  cubical  contents  of  several  of  the  meagre  loads 
of  wood.  Having  exhausted  the  view,  he  turned 
to  the  table  at  his  elbow  and  picked  up  a  medical 
journal,  in  which  he  read  first  an  account  of  a 
marvelous  surgical  operation.  Turning  the  leaves 
idly,  he  came  upon  an  article  by  a  Southern  writer, 
upon  the  perennial  race  problem  that  has  vexed 
the  country  for  a  century.  The  writer  maintained 
that  owing  to  a  special  tendency  of  the  negro  blood, 


106       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

however  diluted,  to  revert  to  the  African  type,  any 
future  amalgamation  of  the  white  and  black  races, 
which  foolish  and  wicked  Northern  negrophiles 
predicted  as  the  ultimate  residt  of  the  new  condi- 
tions confronting  the  South,  would  therefore  be  an 
ethnological  impossibility  ;  for  the  smallest  trace 
of  negro  blood  would  inevitably  drag  down  the 
superior  race  to  the  level  of  the  inferior,  and  reduce 
the  fair  Southland,  already  devastated  by  the  hand 
of  the  invader,  to  the  frightfid  level  of  Ha^iii,  the 
awful  example  of  negro  incapacity.  To  forefend 
their  beloved  land,  now  doubly  sanctified  by  the 
blood  of  her  devoted  sons  who  had  fallen  in  the 
struggle  to  maintain  her  liberties  and  preserve  her 
property,  it  behooved  every  true  Southron  to  stand 
firm  against  the  abhorrent  tide  of  radicalism,  to 
maintain  the  supremacy  and  purity  of  his  all- 
pervading,  all-conquering  race,  and  to  resist  by 
every  available  means  the  threatened  domination  of 
an  inferior  and  degTaded  people,  who  were  set  to 
rule  hereditary  freemen  ere  they  had  themselves 
scarce  ceased  to  be  slaves. 

When  Tryon  had  finished  the  article,  which 
seemed  to  him  a  well-considered  argument,  albeit 
a  trifle  bombastic,  he  threw  the  book  upon  the  table. 
Finding  the  armchair  wonderfully  comfortable,  and 
feelmg  the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  he  yielded  to  a 
drowsy  impulse,  leaned  his  head  on  the  cushioned 
back  of  the  chair,  and  fell  asleep.  According  to 
the  habit  of  youth,  he  dreamed,  and  pursuant  to  his 
own  individual  habit,  he  dreamed  of  Kena.     They 


TRYOX  GOES  TO   PATESVILLE  107 

were  walking  in  the  moonlight,  along  the  quiet  road 
in  front  of  her  brother 's  house.  The  air  was 
redolent  with  the  perfume  of  flowers.  His  arm 
was  around  her  waist.  He  had  asked  her  if  she 
loved  him,  and  was  awaiting  her  answer  in  tremu- 
lous but  confident  expectation.  She  opened  her  lips 
to  speak.  The  sound  that  came  from  them  seemed 
to  be :  — 

"  Is  Dr.  Green  in  ?  No  ?  Ask  him,  when  he  comes 
back,  please,  to  call  at  our  house  as  soon  as  he  can." 

Try  on  was  in  that  state  of  somnolence  in  which 
one  may  dream  and  yet  be  aware  that  one  is 
dreaming,  —  the  state  where  one,  during  a  dream, 
dreams  that  one  pinches  one's  self  to  be  sure  that 
one  is  not  dreaming.  He  was  therefore  aware  of  a 
ringing  quality  about  the  words  he  had  just  heard 
that  did  not  comport  with  the  shado\vy  converse 
of  a  dream  —  an  incongruity  in  the  remark,  too, 
which  marred  the  harmony  of  the  vision.  The 
shock  was  sufficient  to  disturb  Tryon's  slumber, 
and  he  struggled  slowly  back  to  consciousness. 
When  fully  awake,  he  thought  he  heard  a  light 
footfall  descending  the  stairs. 

"  Was  there  some  one  here  ?  "  he  inquired  of 
the  attendant  in  the  outer  office,  who  was  visible 
through  the  open  door. 

"  Yas,  suh,"  replied  the  boy,  "  a  young  cullud 
'oman  wuz  in  jes'  now,  axin'  fer  de  doctuh." 

Tryon  felt  a  momentary  touch  of  annoyance  that 
a  negro  woman  should  have  intruded  herself  into 
his  dream  at  its  most  interesting  point.     Neverthe- 


108       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

less,  the  voice  had  been  so  real,  his  imagination  had 
reproduced  ^\dth  such  exactness  the  dulcet  tones  so 
dear  to  him,  that  he  turned  his  head  involuntarily 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  He  could  just  see 
the  flutter  of  a  woman's  skirt  disai323earing  around 
the  corner. 

A  moment  later  the  doctor  came  bustling  in,  — 
a  plump,  rosy  man  of  fifty  or  more,  with  a  frank, 
open  countenance  and  an  air  of  genial  good  nature. 
Such  a  doctor,  Tryon  fancied,  ought  to  enjoy  a 
wide  popularity.  His  mere  presence  would  suggest 
life  and  hope  and  healtlifulness. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  exclaimed  the  doctor  cordially, 
after  Tryon  had  introduced  himself,  "  I  'm  de- 
lighted to  meet  you  —  or  any  one  of  the  old  blood. 
Your  mother  and  I  were  sweethearts,  long  ago, 
when  we  both  wore  pinafores,  and  went  to  see  our 
grandfather  at  Christmas ;  and  I  met  her  more 
than  once,  and  paid  her  more  than  one  compliment, 
after  she  had  grown  to  be  a  fine  young  woman. 
You  're  like  her,  too,  but  not  quite  so  handsome  — 
you  've  more  of  what  I.  suppose  to  be  the  Tryon 
favor,  though  I  never  met  your  father.  So  one  of 
old  Duncan  McSwayne's  notes  went  so  far  as  that? 
Well,  well,  I  don't  know  where  you  won't  find 
them.  One  of  them  turned  up  here  the  other  day 
from  New  York. 

••'  The  man  you  want  to  see,"  he  added  later  in 
the  conversation,  "  is  old  Judge  Straight.  He  's 
gettmg  somewhat  stiff  in  the  joints,  but  he  knows 
more  law,  and  more  about  the  McSwayne  estate, 


TRYON   GOES   TO   PATESVILLE  109 

than  any  other  two  lawyers  in  toAvn.  If  anybody 
can  collect  your  claim,  Judge  Straight  can.  I  '11 
send  my  boy  Dave  over  to  his  office.  Dave,"  he 
called  to  his  attendant,  ''  run  over  to  Judge 
Straight's  office  and  see  if  he  's  there. 

"  There  was  a  freshet  here  a  few  weeks  ago," 
he  went  on,  when  the  colored  man  had  departed, 
"  and  they  had  to  open  the  flood-gates  and  let  the 
water  out  of  the  mill  pond,  for  if  the  dam  had 
broken,  as  it  did  twenty  years  ago,  it  would  have 
washed  the  pillars  from  under  the  judge's  office 
and  let  it  down  in  the  creek,  and  "  — 

"  Jedge  Straight  ain't  in  de  office  jes'  now, 
suh,"  reported  the  doctor's  man  Dave,  from  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

"  Did  you  ask  when  he  'd  be  back  ?  " 

"  No,  suh,  you  did  n't  tell  me  ter,  suh." 

"  Well,  now,  go  back  and  inquire. 

"  The  niggers,"  he  explained  to  Tryon,  "  are 
getting  mighty  trifling  since  they  've  been  freed. 
Before  the  war,  that  boy  would  have  been  around 
there  and  back  before  you  could  say  Jack  Robin- 
son ;  now,  the  lazy  rascal  takes  his  time  just  like 
a  white  man." 

Dave  returned  more  promptly  than  from  his 
first  trip.  "  Jedge  Straight 's  dere  now,  suh,"  he 
said.     "  He  's  done  come  in." 

"  I  '11  take  you  right  around  and  introduce  you," 
said  the  doctor,  running  on  pleasantly,  like  a 
babbling  brook.  "  I  don't  know  whether  the  judge 
ever  met  your   mother  or  not,  but   he  knows  a 


110       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

gentleman  when  lie  sees  one,  and  will  be  glad  to 
meet  you  and  look  after  your  affair.  See  to  tlie 
patients,  Dave,  and  say  I  '11  be  back  shortly,  and 
don't  forget  any  messages  left  for  me.  Look 
sharp,  now  !     You  know  your  failing  !  " 

4 They  found  Judge  Straight  in  his  office.  He 
was  seated  by  the  rear  window,  and  had  fallen 
into  a  gentle  doze  —  the  air  of  Patesville  was 
conducive  to  slumber.  A  visitor  from  some  bus- 
1  tling  city  might  have  rubbed  his  eyes,  on  any  but  a 
,  market-day,  and  imagined  the  whole  town  asleep 
—  that  the  people  were  somnambulists  and  did  not 
know  it.  The  judge,  an  old  hand,  roused  hiniseK 
so  skillfully,  at  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps, 
that  his  visitors  coidd  not  guess  but  that  he  had 
been  wide  awake.  He  shook  hands  with  the  doctor, 
and  acknowledged  the  introduction  to  Tryon  with 
a  rare  old-fashioned  courtesy,  which  the  young  man 
thought  a  very  charming  survival  of  the  manners 
of  a  past  and  happier  age. 

"  No,"  replied  the  judge,  in  answer  to  a  question 
by  Dr.  Green,  "  I  never  met  his  mother  ;  I  was  a 
generation  ahead  of  her.  I  was  at  school  with  her 
father,  however,  fifty  years  ago  —  fifty  years  ago ! 
No  doubt  that  seems  to  you  a  long  time,  young 
gentleman  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  long  time,  sir,"  replied  Tryon.  "  I 
must  live  more  than  twice  as  long  as  I  have  in 
order  to  cover  it." 

"  A  long  time,  and  a  troubled  time,"  sighed  the 
judge.     "  I  could  wish  that  I  might  see  this  un- 


TRYON  GOES  TO  PATESVILLE  111 

happy  land  at  peace  with  itself  before  I  die. 
Things  are  in  a  sad  tangle ;  I  can't  see  the  way 
out.  But  the  worst  enemy  has  been  slain,  in  spite 
of  us.     We  are  well  rid  of  slavery." 

"  But  the  negro  we  still  have  with  us,"  re- 
marked the  doctor,  "  for  here  comes  my  man 
Dave.  What  is  it,  Dave  ?  "  he  asked  sharply,  as 
the  negro  stuck  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  Doctuh  Green,"  he  said,  "  I  fuhgot  ter  tell 
you,  suh,  dat  dat  young  'oman  wuz  at  de  office 
agin  jes'  befo'  you  come  in,  an'  said  fer  you  to  go 
right  down  an'  see  her  mammy  ez  soon  ez  you 
could." 

"  Ah,  yes,  and  you  've  just  remembered  it !  I  'm 
afraid  you  're  entirely  too  forgetful  for  a  doctor's 
office.  You  forgot  about  old  Mrs.  Latimer,  the 
other  day,  and  when  I  got  there  she  had  almost 
choked  to  death.  Now  get  back  to  the  office,  and 
remember,  the  next  time  you  forget  anything,  I  '11 
hire  another  boy ;  remember  that !  That  boy's 
head,"  he  remarked  to  his  companions,  after  Dave 
had  gone,  "  reminds  me  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
dried  gourd,  with  a  handful  of  cowpeas  rattling 
around  it,  in  lieu  of  gray  matter.  An  old  woman 
out  in  Redbank  got  a  fishbone  in  her  throat,  the 
other  day,  and  nearly  choked  to  death  before  I  got 
there.  A  white  woman,  sir,  came  very  near  losing 
her  life  because  of  a  lazy,  trifling  negro  I  " 

"  I  should  think  you  would  discharge  him,  sir," 
suggested  Tryon. 

"  What  would  be  the  use  ?  "  rejoined  the  doctor. 


112      THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

"  All  negroes  are  alike,  except  that  now  and  then 
there's  a  pretty  woman  along  the  border-line. 
Take  this  patient  of  mine,  for  instance,  —  I  '11  call 
on  her  after  dinner,  her  case  is  not  serious,  —  thirty 
years  ago  she  would  have  made  any  man  turn  his 
head  to  look  at  her.  You  know  who  I  mean, 
don't  you,  judge  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  think  so,"  said  the  judge  promptly. 
"I  've  transacted  a  little  business  for  her  now  and 
then." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  've  seen  the  daugh- 
ter or  not  —  I  'm  sure  you  have  n't  for  the  past 
year  or  so,  for  she  's  been  away.  But  she 's  in 
town  now,  and,  by  Jove,  the  girl  is  really  beautiful. 
And  I  'm  a  judge  of  beauty.  Do  you  remember 
my  wife  thirty  years  ago,  judge  ?  " 

"  She  was  a  very  handsome  woman,  Ed,"  replied 
the  other  judicially.  "  If  I  had  been  twenty  years 
younger,  I  should  have  cut  you  out." 

"  You  mean  you  would  have  tried.  But  as  I 
was  saying,  this  girl  is  a  beauty  ;  I  reckon  we 
might  guess  where  she  got  some  of  it,  eh.  Judge  ? 
Hmnan  nature  is  human  nature,  but  it 's  a  d — d 
shame  that  a  man  should  beget  a  child  like  that 
and  leave  it  to  live  the  life  open  for  a  negro.  If 
she  had  been  born  white,  the  young  fellows  would 
be  tumbling  over  one  another  to  get  her.  Her 
mother  would  have  to  look  after  her  pretty  closely 
as  things  are,  if  she  stayed  here  ;  but  she  dis- 
appeared mysteriously  a  year  or  two  ago,  and  has 
been  at  the  North,  I  'm  told,  passing  for  white. 


TRYON   GOES   TO   PATESVILLE  113 

She  '11  probably  many  a  Yankee ;  lie  won't  know- 
any  better,  and  it  will  serve  Mm  right  —  she  's 
only  too  white  for  them.  She  has  a  very  striking 
figure,  something  on  the  Greek  order,  stately  and 
slow-moving.  She  has  the  manners  of  a  lady,  too 
—  a  beautiful  woman,  if  she  is  a  nigger  !  " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Ed,"  remarked  the 
judge  dryly,  "  that  the  mother  had  better  look 
closely  after  the  daughter."  / 

"Ah,  no,  judge,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  flat- 
tered smile,  '*  my  admiration  for  beauty  is  purely 
abstract.  Twenty-five  years  ago,  when  I  was 
young"  — 

"  When  you  were  younger,"  corrected  the  judge. 

"  When  you  and  I  were  young,"  continued 
the  doctor  ingeniously,  —  "  twenty-five  years  ago,  I 
could  not  have  answered  for  myself.  But  I  would 
advise  the  girl  to  stay  at  the  North,  if  she  can. 
She  's  certainly  out  of  place  around  here." 

Tryon  found  the  subject  a  little  tiresome,  and 
the  doctor's  enthusiasm  not  at  all  contagious.  He 
could  not  possibly  have  been  interested  in  a  col- 
ored girl,  under  any  circumstances,  and  he  was 
engaged  to  be  married  to  the  most  beautiful  white 
woman  on  earth.  To  mention  a  negro  woman  in 
the  same  room  where  he  was  thinking  of  Rena 
seemed  little  short  of  profanation.  His  friend  the 
doctor  was  a  jovial  fellow,  but  it  was  surely  doubt- 
ful taste  to  refer  to  his  wife  in  such  a  conversation. 
He  was  very  glad  when  the  doctor  dropped  the 
subject  and  permitted  him  to  go  more  into  detail 


114       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

about  tlie  matter  wliicli  formed  his  business  in 
Patesville.  He  took  out  of  his  pocket  the  papers 
concerning  the  McSwayne  claim  and  laid  them  on 
the  judge's  desk. 

"  You  '11  find  everything  there,  sir, —  the  note, 
the  contract,  and  some  correspondence  that  will 
give  you  the  hang  of  the  thing.  Will  you  be  able 
to  look  over  them  to-day?  I  shoidd  like,"  he  added 
a  little  nervously,  "  to  go  back  to-morrow." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Dr.  Green  vivaciously, 
"  insult  our  town  by  staying  only  one  day  ?  It 
won't  be  long  enough  to  get  acquainted  with  our 
young  ladies.  Patesville  girls  are  famous  for  their 
beauty.  But  perhaps  there  's  a  loadstone  in  South 
Carolina  to  draw  you  back  ?  Ah,  you  change  color  ! 
To  my  mind  there's  nothing  finer  than  the  ingenu- 
ous blush  of  youth.  But  we  '11  spare  you  if  you  '11 
answer  one  question  — is  it  serious?" 

"  I  'm  to  be  married  in  two  weeks,  sir,"  answered 
Trj^on.  The  statement  sounded  very  pleasant,  in 
spite  of  the  slight  embarrassment  caused  by  the 
inquiry. 

"  Good  boy  ! "  rejoined  the  doctor,  taking  his 
arm  familiarly  —  they  were  both  standing  now. 
"  You  ought  to  have  married  a  Patesville  girl,  but 
you  people  down  towards  the  eastern  counties  sel- 
dom come  this  way,  and  we  are  evidently  too  late 
to  catch  you." 

"  I  '11  look  your  papers  over  this  morning,"  said 
the  judge,  '^  and  when  I  come  from  dinner  will 
stop  at  the  court  house  and  examine  the  records 


TRYOX  GOES  TO   PATESVILLE  115 

and  see  whether  there  's  anything  we  can  get  hold 
of.  If  you  '11  drop  in  around  three  or  four  o'clock, 
I  ma}^  be  able  to  give  you  an  opinion." 

"  Now,  George,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  we  '11 
go  back  to  the  office  for  a  spell,  and  then  I  '11  take 
you  home  with  me  to  luncheon." 

Tryon  hesitated. 

''  Oh,  you  must  come  !  Mrs.  Green  would,  never 
forgive  me  if  I  didn't  bring  you.  Strangers  are 
rare  birds  in  our  society,  and  when  they  come  we 
make  them  welcome.  Our  enemies  may  overturn 
our  institutions,  and  try  to  put  the  bottom  rail  on 
top,  but  they  cannot  destroy  our  Southern  hospi- 
tality. There  are  so  many  carpet-baggers  and  other 
social  vermin  creeping  into  the  South,  with  the 
Yankees  trying  to  force  the  niggers  on  us,  that  it 's 
a  genuine  pleasure  to  get  acquainted  with  another 
real  Southern  gentleman,  whom  one  can  invite  into 
one's  house  without  fear  of  contamination,  and. be- 
fore whom  one  can  express  his  feelings  freely  and 
be  sure  of  perfect  sympathy." 


XIII 

AN  INJUDICIOUS  PAYMENT 

When  Judge  Straight's  visitors  had  departed, 
he  took  up  the  papers  which  had  been  laid  loosely 
on  the  table  as  they  were  taken  out  of  Tryon's  breast- 
pocket, and  commenced  their  perusal.  There  was 
a  note  for  five  hundred  dollars,  many  years  over- 
due, but  not  yet  outlawed  by  laj3se  of  time ;  a 
contract  covering  the  transaction  out  of  which  the 
note  had  grown  ;  and  several  letters  and  copies  of 
letters  modifying  the  terms  of  the  contract.  The 
judge  had  glanced  over  most  of  the  papers,  and 
was  srettino;  well  into  the  merits  of  the  case,  when 
he  unfolded  a  letter  wliich  read  as  follows :  — 

My  dearest  George,  —  I  am  going  away 
for  about  a  week,  to  A^sit  the  bedside  of  an  old 
friend,  who  is  very  ill,  and  may  not  live.  Do  not 
be  alarmed  about  me,  for  I  shall  very  likely  be 
back  by  the  time  you  are. 

Yours  lovingly, 

Row^ENA  Warwick. 

The  judge  was  unable  to  connect  this  letter  with 
the  transaction  which  formed  the  subject  of  his 


AN   INJUDICIOUS   PAYMENT  117 

examination.  Age  had  dimmed  his  perceptions 
somewhat,  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  finished 
the  letter,  and  read  it  over  again,  and  noted  the 
signature  at  the  bottom  a  second  time,  that  he 
perceived  that  the  writing  was  in  a  woman's  hand, 
that  the  ink  was  comparatively  fresh,  and  that 
the  letter  was  dated  only  a  couple  of  days  before. 
While  he  still  held  the  sheet  in  his  hand,  it 
da^vned  upon  him  slowly  that  he  held  also  one  of  , 
the  links  in  a  chain  of  possible  tragedy  which  he 
himself,  he  became  uncomfortably  aware,  had  had 
a  hand  in  forging. 

''  It  is  the  Walden  woman's  daughter,  as  sure  as 
fate !  Her  name  is  Rena.  Her  brother  goes  by 
the  name  of  Warwick.  She  has  come  to  visit  her 
sick  mother.  My  young  client.  Green's  relation,  is 
her  lover  —  is  engaged  to  marry  her  —  is  in  town, 
and  is  likely  to  meet  her  !  " 

The  judge  was  so  absorbed  in  the  situation 
thus  suggested  that  he  laid  the  papers  down  and 
pondered  for  a  moment  the  curious  problem  in- 
volved. He  was  quite  aware  that  two  races  had 
not  dwelt  together,  side  by  side,  for  nearly  three 
hundred  years,  without  mingling  their  blood  in 
greater  or  less  degree  ;  he  was  old  enough,  and  had 
seen  curious  things  enough,  to  know  that  in  this 
mingling  the  current  had  not  always  flowed  in 
one  direction.  Certain  old  decisions  with  which 
he  was  familiar ;  old  scandals  that  had  crept  along 
obscure  channels  ;  old  facts  that  had  come  to  the 
knowledge  of  an  old  practitioner,  who  held  in  the 


118       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

hollow  of  his  hand  the  honor  of  more  than  one 
family,  made  him  know  that  there  was  dark  blood 
among  the  white  people  —  not  a  great  deal,  and 
that  very  much  diluted,  and,  so  long  as  it  was 
sedidously  concealed  or  vigorously  denied,  or  lost 
in  the  mists  of  tradition,  or  ascribed  to  a  foreign  or 
an  aboriginal  strain,  having  no  perceptible  effect 
ujjon  the  racial  type. 

Such  people  were,  for  the  most  part,  merely  on 
the  ragged  edge  of  the  white  world,  seldom  rising 
above  the  level  of  overseers,  or  slave-catchers,  or 
sheriff's  officers,  who  could  usually  be  relied  upon 
to  resent  the  drop  of  black  blood  that  tainted  them, 
and  with  the  zeal  of  the  proselyte  to  visit  their 
hatred  of  it  upon  the  unfortunate  blacks  that  fell 
into  their  hands.  One  curse  of  negro  slavery 
was,  and  one  part  of  its  baleful  heritage  is,  that 
it  poisoned  the  fountains  of  human  sympathy. 
Under  a  system  where  men  might  sell  their  own 
children  without  social  reprobation  or  loss  of 
prestige,  it  was  not  surprising  that  some  of  them 
should  hate  their  distant  cousins.  There  were 
not  in  Pates ville  half  a  dozen  persons  capable 
of  thinking  Judge  Straight's  thoughts  upon  the 
question  before  him,  and  perhaps  not  another  who 
would  have  adopted  the  course  he  now  pursued 
toward  this  anomalous  family  in  the  house  behind 
the  cedars. 

''  Well,  here  we  are  again,  as  the  clown  in  the 
circus  remarks,"  murmured  the  judge.  "Ten  years 
ago,  in  a  moment  of  sentimental  weakness  and  of 


AN  IXJUDICIOUS   PAYMENT  119 

^^lixQtic  loyalty  to  the  memory  of  an  old  friend,  — 
who,  by  the  way,  had  not  cared  enough  for  liis  o^vn 
children  to  take  them  away  from  the  South,  as  he 
might  have  done,  or  to  provide  for  them  handsomely, 
as  he  perhaps  meant  to  do,  —  I  violated  the  tradi- 
tions of  my  class  and  ste23ped  from  the  beaten  path 
to  help  the  misbegotten  son  of  my  old  friend  out  of 
the  slongh  of  despond,  in  which  he  had  learned,  in 
some  strange  way,  that  he  was  floundering.  Ten 
years  later,  the  ghost  of  my  good  deed  returns  to 
haunt  me,  and  makes  me  doubt  whether  I  have 
wrought  more  evil  than  good.  I  wonder,"  he  mused, 
"if  he  wiU  find  her  out  ?  " 

The  judge  was  a  man  of  imagination  ;  he  had 
read  many  books  and  had  personally  outlived  some 
prejudices.  He  let  his  mind  run  on  the  various 
phases  of  the  situation. 

''If  he  found  her  out,  would  he  by  any  possi- 
bility marry  her?  " 

"  It  is  not  likely,"  he  answered  himself.  "  If  he 
made  the  discovery  here,  the  facts  would  probably 
leak  out  in  the  town.  It  is  something  that  a  man 
might  do  in  secret,  but  only  a  hero  or  a  fool  would 
do  openly."  ' 

The  judge  sighed  as  he  contemplated  another 
possibility.  He  had  lived  for  seventy  years  under 
the  old  regime.  The  young  man  was  a  gentleman 
—  so  had  been  the  girl's  father.  Conditions  were 
changed,  but  human  nature  was  the  same.  Woidd 
the  young  man's  love  turn  to  disgust  and  repulsion, 
or  would  it  merely  sink  from  the  level  of  worship 


120       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

to  that  of  desire  ?  Would  the  girl,  denied  marriage, 
accept  anything  less  ?  Her  mother  had,  —  but 
conditions  were  changed.  Yes,  conditions  were 
changed,  so  far  as  the  girl  was  concerned ;  there 
was  a  possible  future  for  her  under  the  new  order 
of  things ;  but  white  people  had  not  changed  their 
opinion  of  the  negroes,  except  for  the  worse.  The 
general  belief  w^as  that  they  were  just  as  inferior  as 
before,  and  had,  moreover,  been  spoiled  by  a  dis- 
gTisting  assumption  of  equality,  driven  into  their 
thick  skulls  by  Yankee  malignity  bent  upon  humili- 
ating a  proud  though  vanquished  foe. 

If  the  judge  had  had  sons  and  daughters  of  his 
own,  he  might  not  have  done  what  he  now  proceeded 
to  do.  But  the  old  man's  attitude  toward  society 
was  chiefly  that  of  an  observer,  and  the  narrow 
stream  of  sentiment  left  in  his  heart  chose  to  flow 
toward  the  weaker  party  in  this  unequal  conflict, 
—  a  young  woman  fighting  for  love  and  opportu- 
nity against  the  ranked  forces  of  society,  against 
immemorial  tradition,  against  pride  of  family  and 
of  race. 

"  It  may  be  the  unwisest  thing  I  ever  did,"  he 
said  to  himself,  turning  to  his  desk  and  taking  up 
a  quill  pen,  "and  may  result  in  more  harm  than 
good  ;  but  I  was  always  from  childhood  in  sympathy 
with  the  under  dog.  There  is  certainly  as  much 
reason  in  my  helping  the  girl  as  the  boy,  for  being 
a  woman,  she  is  less  able  to  help  herself." 

He  dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink  and  wrote  the 
following  lines :  — 


AN  INJUDICIOUS   PAYMENT  121 

Madam,  —  If  you  value  your  daughter's  happi- 
ness, keep  her  at  home  for  the  next  day  or  two. 

This  note  he  dried  by  sprinkling  it  with  sand 
from  a  box  near  at  hand,  signed  with  his  own  name, 
and,  with  a  fine  courtesy,  addressed  to  "  Mrs.  Molly 
Walden."  Having  first  carefully  sealed  it  in  an 
envelope,  he  stepped  to  the  open  door,  and  sj^ied, 
playing  marbles  on  the  street  near  by,  a  group 
of  negro  boys,  one  of  whom  the  judge  called  by 
name. 

"  Here,  Billy,"  he  said,  handing  the  boy  the 
note,  "  take  this  to  Mis'  Molly  Walden.  Do  you 
know  where  she  lives  —  down  on  Front  Street,  in 
the  house  behind  the  cedars  ?  " 

"  Yas,  suh,  I  knows  de  place." 

"  Make  haste,  now.  When  you  come  back  and 
tell  me  what  she  says,  I  '11  give  you  ten  cents.  On 
second  thoughts,  I  shall  be  gone  to  lunch,  so 
here 's  your  money,"  he  added,  handing  the  lad 
the  bit  of  soiled  paper  by  which  the  United  States 
government  acknowledged  its  indebtedness  to  the 
bearer  in  the  sum  of  ten  cents. 

Just  here,  however,  the  judge  made  his  mistake. 
Very  few  mortals  can  spare  the  spring  of  hope, 
the  motive  force  of  expectation.  The  boy  kept 
the  note  in  his  hand,  winked  at  his  companions, 
who  had  gathered  as  near  as  their  awe  of  the  judge 
would  permit,  and  started  down  the  street.  As 
soon  as  the  judge  had  disappeared,  Billy  beckoned 
to  his  friends,  who  speedily  overtook  him.     When 


122       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

the  party  turned  the  corner  of  Front  Street  and 
were  safely  out  of  sight  of  Judge  Straight's  office, 
the  capitalist  entered  the  grocery  store  and  in- 
vested his  unearned  increment  in  gingerbread. 
"When  the  ensuing  saturnalia  was  over,  Billy  fin- 
ished the  game  of  marbles  which  the  judge  had 
interrupted,  and  then  set  out  to  execute  his  com- 
mission. He  had  nearly  reached  his  objective 
point  when  he  met  upon  the  street  a  young  white 
lady,  whom  he  did  not  know,  and  for  whom,  the 
path  being  narrow  at  that  point,  he  stepped  out 
into  the  gutter.  He  reached  the  house  behind 
the  cedars,  went  round  to  the  back  door,  and 
handed  the  envelope  to  Mis'  Molly,  who  was 
seated  on  the  rear  piazza,  propped  up  by  pillows 
in  a  comfortable  rocking-chair. 

"  Laws-a-massy !  "  she  exclaimed  weakly,  "  what 
is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  lettuh,  ma'm,"  answered  the  boy,  whose 
expanding  nostrils  had  caught  a  pleasant  odor 
from  the  kitchen,  and  who  was  therefore  in  no 
hurry  to  go  away. 

"  Who  's  it  fur  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It 's  full  you,  ma'm,"  replied  the  lad. 

"  An'  who 's  it  from  ? "  she  inquired,  turning 
the  envelope  over  and  over,  and  examining  it  with 
the  impotent  curiosity  of  one  who  cannot  read. 

"  F'm  ole  Jedge  Straight,  ma'm.  He  tole  me 
ter  fetch  it  ter  you.  Is  you  got  a  roasted  'tater 
you  could  gimme,  ma'm  ?  " 

"  Shorely,  chile.     I  '11  have  Aunt  Zilphy  fetch 


AN   INJUDICIOUS   PAYMENT  123 

you  a  piece  of  'tater  pone,  if  you  '11  liol'  on  a 
minute." 

She  called  to  Aunt  Zilphy,  who  soon  came 
hobbling  out  of  the  kitchen  Avith  a  large  square  of 
the  delicacy,  —  a  flat  cake  made  of  mashed  sweet 
potatoes,  mixed  with  beaten  eggs,  sweetened  and 
flavored  to  suit  the  taste,  and  baked  ir'a  Dutch 
oven  upon  the  open  hearth. 

The  boy  took  the  gratuity,  thanked  her,  and 
turned  to  go.  Mis'  Molly  was  still  scanning  the 
superscription  of  the  letter.  "  I  wonder,"'  she  mur- 
mured, "  what  old  Judge  Straight  can  be  writin' 
to  me  about.     Oh,  boy  !  " 

"  Yas  'm,"  answered  the  messenger,  looking 
back. 

''  Can  you  read  writin'  ?  " 

"  No  'm." 

"  AU  right.     Never  mind." 

She  laid  the  letter  carefully  on  the  chimney- 
piece  of  the  kitchen.  "  I  reckon  it 's  some  thin' 
mo'  'bout  the  taxes,"  she  thought,  "  or  maybe 
somebody  wants  to  buy  one  er  my  lots.  Rena  '11 
be  back  terrecklv,  an'  she  kin  read  it  an'  find  out. 
I  'm  glad  my  child'en  have  be'n  to  school.  They 
never  could  have  got  where  they  are  now  if  they 
had  n't." 


© 


XIV 

A   LOYAL   FRIEND 

Mention  lias  been  made  of  certain  addressed 
envelopes  which  John  Warwick,  on  the  occa- 
sion of  his  visit  to  Patesville,  had  left  with  his 
illiterate  mother,  by  the  use  of  which  she  might 
communicate  with  her  children  from  time  to  tune. 
On  one  occasion,  Mis'  Molly,  having  had  a  letter 
written,  took  one  of  these  envelopes  from  the  chest 
where  she  kept  her  most  valued  possessions,  and 
was  about  to  inclose  the  letter  when  some  one 
knocked  at  the  back  door.  She  laid  the  envelope 
and  letter  on  a  table  in  her  bedroom,  and  went  to 
answer  the  knock.  The  wind,  blowing  across  the 
room  through  the  open  windows,  picked  up  the 
envelope  and  bore  it  into  the  street.  Mis'  Molly, 
on  her  return,  missed  it,  looked  for  it,  and  being 
unable  to  find  it,  took  another  envelope.  An  hour 
or  two  later  another  gust  of  wind  lifted  the  bit 
of  paper  from  the  ground  and  carried  it  into  the 
open  door  of  the  cooper  shop.  Frank  picked  it 
up,  and  observing  that  it  was  clean  and  unused, 
read  the  superscription.  In  his  conversations  with 
Mis'  Molly,  which  were  often  about  Rena,  —  the 
subject  uppermost  in  both  their  minds,  —  he  had 


A  LOYAL  FRIEND  125 

noted  tlie  mystery  maintained  by  Mis'  Molly  about 
her  daughter's  whereabouts,  and  had  often  won- 
dered where  she  might  be.  Frank  was  an  intel- 
ligent fellow,  and  could  put  this  and  that  together. 
The  envelope  was  addressed  to  a  place  in  South 
Carolina.  He  was  aware,  from  some  casual  re- 
mark of  Mis'  Molly's,  that  Rena  had  gone  to  live 
in  South  CaroUna.  Her  son's  name  was  John  — 
that  he  had  changed  his  last  name  was  more  than 
likely.  Frank  was  not  long  in  reaching  the  con- 
clusion that  Rena  was  to  be  found  near  the  town 
named  on  the  envelope,  which  he  carefully  pre- 
served for  future  reference. 

For  a  whole  year  Frank  had  yearned  for  a  smile 
or  a  kind  word  from  the  only  woman  in  the  world. 
Peter,  his  father,  had  rallied  him  somewhat  upon 
his  moodiness  after  Rena's  departure. 

"  Now  's  de  time,  boy,  fer  you  ter  be  lookin' 
roun'  fer  some  nice  gal  er  yo'  own  color,  w'at  '11  'pre- 
ciate  you,  an'  won't  be  'shamed  er  you.  You  're 
wastin'  time,  boy,  wastin'  time,  shootin'  at  a  mark 
outer  yo'  range." 

But  Frank  said  notliing  in  reply,  and  afterwards 
the  old  man,  who  was  not  without  discern  ai en t, 
respected  his  son's  mood  and  was  silent  in  turn  ; 
while  Frank  fed  liis  memory  with  his  imagination, 
and  by  their  joint  aid  kept  hope  alive. 

Later  an  opportunity  to  see  her  presented  itseK. 
Business  in  the  cooper  shop  was  dull.  A  barrel 
factory  had  been  opened  in  the  to^vn,  and  had 
well-nigh  paralyzed  the  cooper's  trade.     The  best 


126       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

meclianic  could  hardly  compete  with  a  machine. 
One  man  could  now  easily  do  the  work  of  Peter's 
shop.  An  agent  appeared  in  town  seeking  labor- 
ers for  one  of  the  railroads  which  the  newly  or- 
ganized carpet-bag  governments  were  promoting. 
Upon  inquiry  Frank  learned  that  their  destination 
was  near  the  town  of  Clarence,  South  Carolina. 
He  promptly  engaged  liimseK  for  the  service,  and 
was  soon  at  work  in  the  neighborhood  of  War- 
wick's home.  There  he  was  employed  steadily 
until  a  certain  holiday,  upon  which  a  grand  tourna- 
ment was  advertised  to  take  place  in  a  neighbor- 
ing town.  Work  was  suspended,  and  foremen  and 
laborers  attended  the  festivities. 

Frank  had  surmised  that  Rena  would  be  present 
on  such  an  occasion.  He  had  more  than  guessed, 
too,  that  she  must  be  looked  for  among  the  white 
people  rather  than  among  the  black.  Hence  the 
interest  with  which  he  had  scanned  the  grand  stand. 
The  result  has  already  been  recounted.  He  had 
recoanized  her  sweet  face  ;  he  had  seen  her  en- 
throned  among  the  proudest  and  best.  He  had 
witnessed  and  gloried  in  her  triumph.  He  had  seen 
her  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure,  her  eyes  lit  up  with 
smiles.  He  had  followed  her  carriage,  had  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Mimy  the  nurse,  and  had 
learned  all  about  the  family.  When  finally  he  left 
the  neighborhood  to  return  to  Patesville,  he  had 
learned  of  Tryon's  attentions,  and  had  heard  the 
servants'  gossip  with  reference  to  the  marriage, 
of  which  they  knew  the  details  long  before  the 


A  LOYAL  FRIEND  127 

principals  had  approached  the  main  fact.  Frank 
went  away  without  having  received  one  smile  or 
heard  one  word  from  Rena ;  but  he  had  seen  her : 
she  was  happy  ;  he  was  content  in  the  knowledge  of 
her  happiness.  She  was  doubtless  secure  in  the  be- 
lief that  her  secret  was  unknown.  Why  should  he, 
by  revealing  his  presence,  sow  the  seeds  of  doubt 
or  distrust  in  the  garden  of  her  happiness?  He 
sacrificed  the  deepest  longing  of  a  faithful  heart, 
and  went  back  to  the  cooper  shop  lest  perchance  she 
might  accidentally  come  upon  him  some  day  and 
suffer  the  shock  which  he  had  sedulously  spared  her. 

"  I  would  n'  want  ter  sheer  her,"  he  mused,  "  er 
make  her  feel  bad,  an'  dat  's  w'at  I  'd  mos'  lackly  do 
ef  she  seed  me.  She  '11  be  better  off  wid  me  out'n 
de  road.  She  '11  marry  dat  rich  w'ite  gent'eman,  — 
he  won't  never  know  de  diffe'nce,  —  an'  be  a  w'ite 
lady,  ez  she  would  'a'  be'n,  ef  some  ole  witch  had  n' 
changed  her  in  her  cradle.  But  maybe  some  time 
she  '11  'member  de  little  nigger  w'at  use'  ter  nuss 
her  w'en  she  wuz  a  chile,  an'  fished  her  out'n  de  ole 
canal,  an'  would  'a'  died  fer  her  ef  it  would  'a'  done 
any  good." 

Very  generously  too,  and  with  a  fine  delicacy, 
he  said  nothing  to  Mis'  Molly  of  his  having  seen 
her  daughter,  lest  she  might  be  disquieted  by  the 
knowledge  that  he  shared  the  family  secret,  —  no 
great  mystery  now,  this  pitiful  secret,  but  more  far- 
reaching  in  its  consequences  than  any  blood-curdling 
crime.  The  taint  of  black  blood  was  the  unpardon- 
able sin,  from  the  unmerited  penalty  of  which  there 


128       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

was  no  escape  except  by  concealment.  If  there  be 
a  dainty  reader  of  this  tale  who  scorns  a  lie,  and 
who  writes  the  story  of  his  life  upon  his  sleeve  for 
all  the  world  to  read,  let  him  uncurl  his  scornful 
lip  and  come  down  from  the  pedestal  of  superior 
morality,  to  which  assured  position  and  wide  op- 
portunity have  lifted  him,  and  put  himself  in  the 
place  of  Rena  and  her  brother,  upon  whom  God  had 
lavished  his  best  gifts,  and  from  whom  society  would 
have  witldield  all  that  made  these  gifts  valuable. 
To  undertake  what  they  tried  to  do  required  great 
courage.  Had  they  possessed  the  sneaking,  crin- 
ging, treacherous  character  traditionally  ascribed 
to  people  of  mixed  blood  —  the  character  which  the 
blessed  institutions  of  a  free  slave-holding  republic 
had  been  well  adapted  to  foster  among  them  ;  had 
they  been  selfish  enough  to  sacrifice  to  their  ambi- 
tion the  mother  who  gave  them  birth,  society  would 
have  been  placated  or  humbugged,  and  the  voyage 
of  their  life  might  have  been  one  of  unbroken 
smoothness. 

When  Rena  came  back  unexpectedly  at  the 
behest  of  her  dream,  Frank  heard  again  the  music 
of  her  voice,  felt  the  joy  of  her  presence  and  the 
benison  of  her  smile.  There  was,  however,  a  subtle 
difference  in  her  bearing.  Her  words  were  not  less 
kind,  but  they  seemed  to  come  from  a  remoter 
source.  She  was  kind,  as  the  smi  is  warm  or  the 
rain  refreshing ;  she  was  especially  kind  to  Frank, 
because  he  had  been  good  to  her  mother.  If  Frank 
felt  the  difference  in  her  attitude,  he  ascribed  it  to 


A   LOYAL  FRIEND  129 

the  fact  that  she  had  been  white,  and  had  taken  on 
something  of  the  white  attitude  toward  the  negro ; 
and  Frank,  with  an  equal  unconsciousness,  clothed 
her  with  the  attributes  of  the  superior  race.  Only  ' 
her  drop  of  black  blood,  he  conceived,  gave  him  the 
right  to  feel  toward  her  as  he  would  never  have 
felt  without  it ;  and  if  Rena  guessed  her  faithful 
devotee's  secret,  the  same  reason  saved  his  worship 
from  presumption.  A  smile  and  a  kind  word  were 
little  enough  to  pay  for  a  life's  devotion. 

On  the  third  day  of  Rena's  presence  in  Pates- 
\dl]e,  Frank  was  driving  up  Front  Street  in  the 
early  afternoon,  when  he  nearly  fell  off  his  cart 
in  astonishment  as  he  saw  seated  in  Dr.  Green's 
buggy,  which  was  standing  in  front  of  the  Pates- 
ville  Hotel,  the  young  gentleman  who  had  won  the 
prize  at  the  tournament,  and  who,  as  he  had  learned, 
was  to  marry  Rena.  Frank  was  quite  certain  that 
she  did  not  know  of  Tryon's  presence  in  the  town. 
Frank  had  been  over  to  Mis'  Molly's  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  had  offered  his  services  to  the  sick  woman, 
who  had  rapidly  become  convalescent  upon  her 
daughter's  return.  Mis'  Molly  had  spoken  of  some 
camphor  that  she  needed.  Frank  had  volunteered 
to  get  it.  Rena  had  thanked  him,  and  had  spoken 
of  going  to  the  drugstore  during  the  afternoon.  It 
was  her  intention  to  leave  Pates  \dlle  on  the  follow- 
ing day. 

"  Ef  dat  man  sees  her  in  dis  town,"  said  Frank 
to  himseK,  "  dere  '11  be  trouble.     She  don't  know  / 
lie 's  here,  an'  I  '11  bet  he  don't  know  she  's  here." 


130       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

Then  Frank  was  assailed  by  a  very  strong  tempta- 
tion. If,  as  lie  surmised,  the  joint  presence  of  the 
two  lovers  in  Pates ville  was  a  mere  coincidence,  a 
meeting  between  them  would  probably  result  in  the 
discovery  of  Rena's  secret. 

"  If  she 's  found  out,"  argued  the  tempter, 
"  she  '11  come  back  to  her  mother,  and  you  can  see 
her  every  day." 

But  Frank's  love  was  not  of  the  selfish  kind. 
He  put  temptation  aside,  and  applied  the  whip  to 
the  back  of  his  mule  with  a  vigor  that  astonished  the 
animal  and  moved  him  to  unwonted  activity.  In 
an  unusually  short  space  of  time  he  drew  up  before 
Mis'  Molly's  back  gate,  sprang  from  the  cart,  and 
ran  up  to  Mis'  Molly  on  the  porch. 

"  Is  Miss  Rena  here?  "  he  demanded  breatlilessly. 

"  No,  Frank ;  she  went  up  town  'bout  an  hour  ago 
to  see  the  doctor  an'  git  me  some  camphor  gum." 

Frank  uttered  a  groan,  rushed  from  the  house, 
sprang  into  the  cart,  and  goaded  the  terrified  mule 
into  a  gallop  that  carried  him  back  to  the  market- 
house  in  half  the  time  it  had  taken  him  to  reach 
Mis'  MoUy's. 

"  I  wonder  what  in  the  worl'  's  the  matter  with 
Frank,"  mused  Mis'  Molly,  in  vague  alarm.  "  Ef 
he  had  n't  be'n  in  such  a  hurry,  I  'd  'a'  axed  him 
to  read  Judge  Straight's  letter.  But  Rena  'U  be 
home  soon." 

When  Frank  reached  the  doctor's  office,  he  saw 
Tryon  seated  in  the  doctor's  buggy,  which  was 
standing  by  the  window  of  the  drugstore.     Frank 


A  LOYAL  FRIEND  131 

ran  upstairs  and  asked  the  doctor's  man  if  Miss 
Walden  had  been  there. 

"  Yas,"  replied  Dave,  "  she  wuz  here  a  little 
w'ile  ago,  an'  said  she  wuz  gwine  downstairs  ter  de 
drugsto'.  I  would  n'  be  s'prise'  ef  you  'd  fin'  her 
dere  now." 


XV 

MINE    OWN   PEOPLE 

The  drive  by  which  Dr.  Green  took  Tryon  to 
his  own  house  led  up  Front  Street  about  a  mile,  to 
the  most  aristocratic  portion  of  the  town,  situated 
on  the  hill  known  as  Haymount,  or,  more  briefly, 
"  The  Hill."  The  Hill  had  lost  some  of  its  former 
glory,  however,  for  the  blight  of  a  four  years'  war 
was  everywhere.  After  reaching  the  top  of  this 
wooded  eminence,  the  road  skirted  for  some  little 
distance  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Below  them  lay  the 
picturesque  old  town,  a  mass  of  \dvid  green,  dotted 
here  and  there  with  gray  roofs  that  rose  above  the 
tree-tops.  Two  long  ribbons  of  streets  stretched 
away  from  the  Hill  to  the  faint  red  line  that  marked 
the  high  bluff  beyond  the  river  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  town.  The  market-house  tower  and  the 
slender  spires  of  half  a  dozen  churches  were  sharply 
outlined  against  the  green  background.  The  face 
of  the  clock  was  visible,  but  the  hours  could  have 
been  read  only  by  eyes  of  phenomenal  sharpness. 
Around  them  stretched  ruined  walls,  dismantled 
towers,  and  crumbling  earthworks  —  footprints  of 
the  god  of  war,  one  of  whose  temples  had  crowned 
this  height.    For  many  years  before  the  rebellion  a 


MINE  OWN  PEOPLE  133 

Federal  arsenal  had  been  located  at  Patesville. 
Seized  by  the  state  troops  upon  the  secession  of 
North  Carolina,  it  had  been  held  by  the  Confed- 
erates until  the  approach  of  Sherman's  victorious 
army,  whereupon  it  was  evacuated  and  partially 
destroyed.  The  work  of  destruction  begun  by  the 
retreating  garrison  was  completed  by  the  conquer- 
ors, and  now  only  ruined  walls  and  broken  cannon 
remained  of  what  had  once  been  the  chief  ornament 
and  pride  of  Patesville. 

The  front  of  Dr.  Green's  spacious  brick  house, 
which  occupied  an  ideally  picturesque  site,  was 
overgrown  by  a  network  of  clinging  vines,  con- 
trasting most  agreeably  with  the  mellow  red  back- 
ground. A  low  brick  wall,  also  overrun  with 
creepers,  separated  the  premises  from  the  street 
and  shut  in  a  well-kept  flower  garden,  in  which 
Tryon,  who  knew  something  of  plants,  noticed 
many  rare  and  beautiful  specimens. 

Mrs.  Green  greeted  Tryon  cordially.  He  did 
not  have  the  doctor's  memory  with  which  to  fill  out 
the  lady's  cheeks  or  restore  the  lustre  of  her  hair 
or  the  sparkle  of  her  eyes,  and  thereby  justify  her 
husband's  claim  to  be  a  judge  of  beauty  ;  but  her 
kind-hearted  hospitality  was  obvious,  and  might 
have  made  even  a  plain  woman  seem  handsome. 
She  and  her  two  fair  daughters,  to  whom  Tryon 
was  duly  presented,  looked  with  much  favor  upon 
their  handsome  young  kinsman  ;  for  among  the 
peojDle  of  Patesville,  perhaps  by  virtue  of  the  pre- 
valence of  Scottish  blood,  the  ties  of  blood  were 


134       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

cherisliecl  as  things  of  value,  and  never  forgotten 
except  in  case  of  the  unworthy  —  an  exception,  by 
the  way,  which  one  need  hardly  go  so  far  to  seek. 

The  Patesville  people  were  not  exceptional  in 
the  weaknesses  and  meannesses  which  are  common 
to  all  mankind,  but  for  some  of  the  finer  social 
quahties  they  were  conspicuously  above  the  aver- 
age. Kindness,  hospitality,  loyalty,  a  chivalrous 
deference  to  women,  —  all  these  things  might  be 
found  in  large  measure  by  those  who  saw  Patesville 
with  the  eyes  of  its  best  citizens,  and  accepted 
'  *  their  standards  of  politics,  religion,  manners,  and 
morals. 

The  doctor,  after  the  introductions,  excused 
himself  for  a  moment,  Mrs.  Green  soon  left 
Tryon  with  the  young  ladies  and  went  to  look 
after  luncheon.  Her  first  errand,  however,  was 
to  find  the  doctor. 

"  Is  he  well  off,  Ed  ?  "  she  asked  her  husband. 

"Lots  of  land,  and  plenty  of  money,  if  he  is 
ever  able  to  collect  it.  He  has  inherited  two 
estates." 

"  He  's  a  good-looking  fellow,"  she  mused.  "  Is 
he  married  ?  " 

"  There  you  go  again,"  rephed  her  husband, 
shaking  his  forefinger  at  her  in  mock  reproach. 
"  To  a  woman  with  marriageable  daughters  all 
roads  lead  to  matrimony,  the  centre  of  a  woman's 
universe.  All  men  must  be  sized  up  by  their 
matrimonial  availability.     No,  he  is  n't  married." 

"  That 's  nice,"  she  rejoined  reflectively.      "  I 


MINE  OWN  PEOPLE  135 

think  we  ought  to  ask  him  to  stay  with  us  while  he 
is  in  toAvn,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  He  's  not  married,"  rejoined  the  doctor  slyly, 
"but  the  next  best  thing  —  he  's  engaged." 

"  Come  to  think  of  it,"  said  the  lady,  "  I  'm 
afraid  we  would  n't  have  the  room  to  spare,  and 
the  girls  would  hardly  have  time  to  entertain  him. 
But  we  '11  have  him  up  several  times.  I  like  his 
looks.  I  wish  you  had  sent  me  word  he  was  com- 
ing ;  I  'd  have  had  a  better  luncheon." 

"  Make  him  a  salad,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  "  and 
get  out  a  bottle  of  the  best  claret.  Thank  God,  * 
the  Yankees  did  n't  get  into  my  wine  cellar  !  The 
young  man  must  be  treated  with  genuine  Southern 
hospitality,  —  even  if  he  were  a  Mormon  and  mar- 
ried ten  times  over." 

"  Indeed,  he  would  not,  Ed,  —  the  idea  !  I  'm 
ashamed  of  you.  Hurry  back  to  the  parlor  and 
talk  to  him.  The  girls  may  want  to  primp  a  Httle 
before  luncheon ;  we  don't  have  a  young  man 
every  day." 

"  Beauty  unadorned,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  is 
adorned  the  most.  My  profession  qualifies  me  to 
speak  upon  the  subject.  They  are  the  two  hand- 
somest young  women  in  Patesville,  and  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  most  beautiful  "  — 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  say  the  word,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Green,  with  placid  good  nature.  "  I  shall 
never  grow  old  while  I  am  living  with  a  big  boy 
like  you.     But  I  must  go  and  make  the  salad." 

At  dinner  the  conversation  ran  on  the  family 


136       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

connections  and  their  varying  fortunes  in  the  late 
war.  Some  had  died  upon  the  battlefield,  and 
slept  in  unkno^\^l  graves  ;  some  had  been  finan- 
cially ruined  by  their  faith  in  the  "  lost  cause," 
having  invested  their  all  in  the  securities  of  the 
Confederate  Government.  Few  had  anything  left 
but  land,  and  land  without  slaves  to  work  it  was  a 
drug  in  the  market. 

"  I  was  offered  a  thousand  acres,  the  other  day, 
at  twenty-five  cents  an  acre,"  remarked  the  doc- 
tor. "  The  owner  is  so  land-poor  that  he  can't 
pay  the  taxes.  They  have  taken  our  negroes  and 
our  liberties.  It  may  be  better  for  our  grand- 
children that  the  negroes  are  free,  but  it's  con- 
foundedly hard  on  us  to  take  them  without  paying 
for  them.  They  may  exalt  our  slaves  over  us 
temporarily,  but  they  have  not  broken  our  spirit, 
and  cannot  take  away  our  superiority  of  blood  and 
breeding.  In  time  we  shall  regain  control.  The 
negro  is  an  inferior  creature;  God  has  marked 
him  with  the  badge  of  servitude,  and  has  adjusted 
his  intellect  to  a  servile  condition.  We  will  not 
long  submit  to  his  domination.  I  give  you  a 
toast,  sir :  The  Anglo-Saxon  race :  may  it  remain 
forever,  as  now,  the  head  and  front  of  creation, 
never  yielding  its  rights,  and  ready  always  to  die, 
if  need  be,  in  defense  of  its  liberties !  " 

"With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  replied  Tryon,  who 
felt  in  this  company  a  thrill  of  that  pleasure  which 
accompanies  conscious  superiority,  —  "  with  all  my 
heart,  sir,  if  the  ladies  wiU  permit  me." 


V 


MINE   OWN  PEOPLE  137 

"  We  will  join  you,"  they  replied.  The  toast 
was  drunk  vnih  great  enthusiasm. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  George,"  exclaimed  the 
doctor,  "  to  change  one  good  subject  for  another, 
tell  us  who  is  the  favored  lady  ?  " 

"A  Miss  Rowena  Warwick,  sir,"  replied  Tryon, 
vividly  conscious  of  four  pairs  of  eyes  fixed  upon 
him,  but,  apart  from  the  momentary  embarrass- 
ment, welcoming  the  subject  as  the  one  he  would 
most  like  to  speak  upon. 

"  A  good,  strong  old  English  name,"  observed 
the  doctor. 

"  The  heroine  of  '  Ivanhoe '  !  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Harriet. 

"  Warwick  the  Kingmaker !  "  said  Miss  Mary. 
"  Is  she  tall  and  fair,  and  dignified  and  stately  ?  " 

"  She  is  tall,  dark  rather  than  fair,  and  full  of 
tender  gTace  and  sweet  humility." 

"  She  should  have  been  named  Rebecca  instead 
of  Rowena,"  rejoined  Miss  Mary,  who  was  well  up 
in  her  Scott. 

"  Tell  us  something  about  her  people,"  asked 
Mrs.  Green, —  to  which  inquiry  the  young  ladie?   jl/^p^ 
looked  assent.  ' 

In  this  meeting  of  the  elect  of  his  own  class  and 
kindred,  Tryon  felt  a  certain  strong  illumination 
upon  the  value  of  birth  and  blood.  Finding  Rena 
among  people  of  the  best  social  standing,  the  sub- 
sequent intimation  that  she  was  a  girl  of  no  family 
had  seemed  a  small  matter  to  one  so  much  in  love. 
Nevertheless,  in   his  present    company   he    felt  a 


A/ 


138       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

decided  satisfaction  in  being  able  to  present  for  Lis 
future  wife  a  clean  bill  of  social  health. 

"  Her  brother  is  the  most  prominent  lawyer  of 
Clarence.  They  live  in  a  fine  old  family  mansion, 
and  are  among  the  best  people  of  the  town." 

"  Quite  right,  my  boy,"  assented  the  doctor. 
"  None  but  the  best  are  good  enough  for  the  best. 
You  must  bring  her  to  Patesville  some  day.  But 
bless  my  life !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  his 
watch,  "  I  must  be  going.  Will  you  stay  with  the 
ladies  awhile,  or  go  back  down  town  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  had  better  go  with  you,  sir.  I  shall 
have  to  see  Judge  Straight." 

"  Very  well.  But  you  must  come  back  to  sup- 
per, and  we  '11  have  a  few  friends  in  to  meet  you. 
You  must  see  some  of  the  best  people." 

The  doctor's  buggy  was  waiting  at  the  gate. 
As  they  were  passing  the  hotel  on  their  drive 
down  town,  the  clerk  came  out  to  the  curbstone 
and  called  to  the  doctor. 

"  There  's  a  man  here,  doctor,  who  's  been  taken 
suddenly  ill.     Can  you  come  in  a  minute  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to.  Will  you  wait  for 
me  here,  George,  or  will  you  drive  down  to  the 
office  ?     I  can  walk  the  rest  of  the  way." 

*'  I  think  I  '11  wait  here,  doctor,"  answered 
Tryon.  "I  '11  step  up  to  my  room  a  moment.  I  'U 
be  back  by  the  time  you  're  ready." 

It  was  while  they  were  standing  before  the  hotel, 
previous  to  alighting  from  the  buggj^  that  Frank 
Fowler,  passing  on  his  cart,  saw  Tryon  and  set  out 


MINE   OWN  PEOPLE  139 

as  fast  as  lie  could  to  warn  Mis'  Molly  and  her 
daughter  of  his  presence  in  the  town. 

Tryon  went  up  to  his  room,  returned  after  a 
wliile,  and  resumed  his  seat  in  the  buggy,  where 
he  waited  fifteen  minutes  longer  before  the  doctor 
was  ready.  When  they  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
office,  the  doctor's  man  Dave  was  standing  in  the 
doorway,  looking  up  the  street  with  an  anxious 
expression,  as  though  struggling  hard  to  keep 
sometliing  upon  his  mind. 

"  Anything  wanted,  Dave  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Dat  young  'oman  's  be'n  heah  ag'in,  suh,  an' 
wants  ter  see  you  bad.  She  's  in  de  drugstore  dere 
now,  suh.  Bless  Gawd ! "  he  added  to  himself 
fervently,  "  I  'membered  dat.  Dis  yer  recommem- 
b'ance  er  mine  is  gwine  ter  git  me  inter  trouble  ef 
I  don'  look  out,  an'  dat 's  a  fac',  sho'." 

The  doctor  sprang  from  the  buggy  with  an 
agility  remarkable  in  a  man  of  sixty.  "  Just  keep 
your  seat,  George,"  he  said  to  Tryon,  "  until  I 
have  spoken  to  the  young  woman,  and  then  we  '11 
go  across  to  Straight's.  Or,  if  you  '11  drive  along 
a  little  farther,  you  can  see  the  girl  through  the 
window.  She  's  worth  the  trouble,  if  you  like  a 
pretty  face." 

Tryon  liked  one  pretty  face  ;  moreover,  tinted 
beauty  had  never  appealed  to  him.  More  to  show 
a  proper  regard  for  what  interested  the  doctor  than 
from  any  curiosity  of  his  own,  he  drove  forward  a 
few  feet,  until  the  side  of  the  buggy  was  opposite 
the  drugstore  window,  and  then  looked  in. 


140       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

Between  the  colored  glass  bottles  in  the  window 
he  could  see  a  young  woman,  a  tall  and  slender  girl, 
like  a  lily  on  its  stem.  She  stood  talking  with  the 
doctor,  who  held  his  hat  in  his  hand  with  as  much 
deference  as  though  she  were  the  proudest  dame 
in  town.  Her  face  was  partly  turned  away  from 
the  window,  but  as  Try  on' s  eye  fell  upon  her,  he 
gave  a  great  start.  Surely,  no  two  women  could  be 
so  much  alike.  The  height,  the  graceful  droop  of  the 
shoulders,  the  swan-like  poise  of  the  head,  the  well- 
turned  little  ear,  —  surely,  no  two  women  coidd 
have  them  all  identical !  But,  pshaw  !  the  notion 
was  absurd,  it  was  merely  the  reflex  influence  of 
his  morning's  dream. 

She  moved  slightly  ;  it  was  Rena's  movement. 
Surely  he  knew  the  gown,  and  the  style  of  hair- 
dressing  !  She  rested  her  hand  lightly  on  the 
back  of  a  chair.  The  ring  that  glittered  on  her 
finsrer  could  be  none  other  than  his  own. 

The  doctor  bowed.  The  girl  nodded  in  response, 
and,  turning,  left  the  store.  Try  on  leaned  forward 
from  the  buggy-seat  and  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the 
figure  that  moved  across  the  floor  of  the  drugstore. 
As  she  came  out,  she  turned  her  face  casually 
toward  the  buggy,  and  there  could  no  longer  be 
any  doubt  as  to  her  identity. 

When  Rena's  eyes  fell  upon  the  young  man  in 
the  buggy,  she  saw  a  face  as  pale  as  death,  with 
starting  eyes,  in  which  love,  which  once  had 
reigned  tliere,  had  now  given  place  to  astonishment 
and  horror.     She  stood  a  moment  as  if  turned  to 


MINE   OWN  PEOPLE  141 

stone.  One  appealing  glance  she  gave,  —  a  look 
that  might  have  softened  adamant.  When  she 
saw  that  it  brought  no  answering  sign  of  love  or 
sorrow  or  regi'et,  the  color  faded  from  her  cheek, 
the  light  from  her  eye,  and  she  fell  fainting  to  the 
ground. 


XVI 

THE   BOTTOM   FALLS   OUT 


The  first  effect  of  Tryon's  discovery  was,  figura^ 
tively  speaking,  to  knock  the  bottom  out  of  things 
for  him.  It  was  much  as  if  a  boat  on  which  he 
had  been  floating  smootlily  down  the  stream  of 
pleasure  had  sunk  suddenly  and  left  him  struggling 
in  deep  waters.  The  full  realization  of  the  truth, 
which  followed  speedily,  had  for  the  moment  re- 
versed his  mental  attitude  toward  her,  and  love 
and  yearning  had  given  place  to  anger  and  dis- 
gust. His  agitation  could  hardly  have  escaped 
notice  had  not  the  doctor's  attention,  and  that  of 
the  crowd  that  quickly  gathered,  been  absorbed  by 
the  young  woman  who  had  fallen.  During  the 
time  occupied  in  carrying  her  into  the  drugstore, 
restoring  her  to  consciousness,  and  sending  her 
home  in  a  carriage,  Tryon  had  time  to  recover  in 
some  degree  his  self-possession.  When  Rena  had 
been  taken  home,  he  slipped  away  for  a  long  walk, 
after  which  he  called  at  Judge  Straight's  office  and 
received  the  judge's  report  upon  the  matter  pre- 
sented. Judge  Straight  had  found  the  claim,  in 
his  opinion,  a  good  one ;  he  had  discovered  prop- 
erty from  which,  in  case  the  claim  were  allowed, 


THE   BOTTOM  FALLS   OUT  143 

the  amount  might  be  realized.  The  judge,  who  had 
abeady  been  informed  of  the  incident  at  the  drug- 
store, observed  Tryon's  preoccupation  and  guessed 
shrewdly  at  its  cause,  but  gave  no  sign.  Tryon 
left  the  matter  of  the  note  unreservedly  in  the 
la\v}^er's  hands,  with  instructions  to  communicate 
to  him  any  further  developments. 

Returning  to  the  doctor's  office,  Tryon  listened 
to  that  genial  gentleman's  comments  on  the  acci- 
dent, his  own  concern  in  which  he,  by  a  great  effort, 
was  able  to  conceal.  The  doctor  insisted  upon  his 
returning  to  the  Hill  for  supper.  Tryon  pleaded  ill- 
ness. The  doctor  was  solicitous,  felt  his  pulse,  ex- 
amined his  tongue,  pronounced  him  feverish,  and 
prescribed  a  sedative.  Tryon  sought  refuge  in  his 
room  at  the  hotel,  from  which  he  did  not  emerge 
again  until  morning. 

His  emotions  were  varied  and  stormy.  At  first 
he  could  see  nothing  but  the  fraud  of  which  he  had 
been  made  the  victim.  A  negro  girl  had  been 
foisted  upon  him  for  a  white  woman,  and  he  had 
almost  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  against  his 
race  of  marrying  her.  Such  a  step,  he  felt,  would 
have  been  criminal  at  any  time  ;  it  would  have 
been  the  most  odious  treachery  at  this  epoch,  when 
his  people  had  IBeen  subjugated  and  humiliated  by 
the  Northern  invaders,  who  had  preached  negro 
equality  and  abolished  the  wholesome  laws  decree- 
ing the  separation  of  the  races.  But  no  South- 
erner who  loved  his  poor,  downtrodden  country,  or 
his  race,  the  proud  Anglo-Saxon  race  which  traced 


144       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

the  clear  stream  of  its  blood  to  the  cavaliers  of 
England,  could  tolerate  the  idea  that  even  in  dis- 
tant generations  that  unsullied  current  could  be 
polluted  by  the  blood  of  slaves.  The  very  thought 
was  an  insult  to  the  white  people  of  the  SoutL 
For  Tryon's  liberality,  of  which  he  had  spoken  so 
nobly  and  so  sincerely,  had  been  confined  luicon- 
sciously,  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  within  the  boun- 
daries of  his  own  race.  The  Southern  mind,  in 
discussing  abstract  questions  relative  to  humanity, 
makes  always,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  the 
mental  reservation  that  the  conclusions  reached  do 
not  apply  to  the  negro,  unless  they  can  be  made  to 
harmonize  with  the  customs  of  the  country. 

But  reasoning  thus  was  not  without  effect  ujion 
a  mind  by  nature  reasonable  above  the  average. 
Tryon's  race  impulse  and  social  prejudice  had 
carried  him  too  far,  and  the  swing  of  the  mental 
pendulum  brought  his  thoughts  rapidly  back  in 
the  opposite  direction.  Tossing  uneasily  on  the 
bed,  where  he  had  thrown  himself  down  without 
undressing,  the  air  of  the  room  oppressed  him,  and 
he  threw  open  the  window.  The  cool  night  air 
calmed  his  throbbing  pulses.  The  moonlight, 
streaming  through  the  window,  flooded  the  room 
with  a  soft  light,  in  which  he  seemed  to  see  Rena 
standing  before  him,  as  she  had  appeared  that 
afternoon,  gazing  at  him  with  eyes  that  implored 
charity  and  forgiveness.  He  burst  into  tears,  — 
bitter  tears,  that  strained  his  heartstrings.  He 
was  only  a  youth.     She  was  his  first  love,  and  he 


THE  BOTTOM  FALLS  OUT  145 

had  lost  her  forever.  She  was  worse  than  dead 
to  hhu  ;  for  if  he  had  seen  her  lying  in  her  shroud 
before  him,  he  could  at  least  have  cherished  her 
memory ;  now,  even  this  consolation  was  denied 
him. 

The  town  clock  —  which  so  long  as  it  was  wound 
up  regularly  recked  notliing  of  love  or  hate,  joy  or 
sorrow  —  solemnly  tolled  out  the  hour  of  midnight 
and  sounded  the  knell  of  his  lost  love.  Lost  she 
was,  as  though  she  had  never  been,  as  she  had 
indeed  had  no  right  to  be.  He  resolutely  deter- 
mined to  banish  her  image  from  his  mind.  See 
her  again  he  could  not ;  it  would  be  painful  to 
them  both  ;  it  could  be  productive  of  no  good  to 
either.  He  had  felt  the  power  and  charm  of  love, 
and  no  ordinary  shock  could  have  loosened  its 
hold  ;  but  this  catastrophe,  which  had  so  rudely 
swept  away  the  groundwork  of  his  passion,  had 
stirred  into  new  life  all  the  slumbering  pride  of 
race  and  ancestry  which  characterized  his  caste. 
How  much  of  this  sensitive  superiority  was  essen- 
tial and  how  much  accidental ;  how  much  of  it 
was  due  to  the  ever-suggested  comparison  with  a 
servile  race ;  how  much  of  it  was  ignorance  and 
self-conceit ;  to  what  extent  the  boasted  purity  of 
his  race  would  have  been  contaminated  by  the  fair 
woman  whose  image  filled  his  memory,  —  of  these 
things  he  never  thought.  He  was  not  influenced 
by  sordid  considerations ;  he  would  have  denied 
that  his  course  was  controlled  by  any  narrow  pru- 
dence.    If  Rena  had  been  white,  pure  white  (for 


146       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

in  his  creed  there  was  no  compromise),  he  would 
have  braved  any  danger  for  her  sake.  Had  she 
been  merely  of  illegitimate  birth,  he  would  have 
overlooked  the  bar  sinister.  Had  her  people 
been  simply  poor  and  of  low  estate,  he  would  have 
brushed  aside  mere  worldly  considerations,  and 
would  have  bravely  sacrificed  convention  for  love ; 
for  his  liberality  was  not  a  mere  form  of  words. 
But  the  one  objection  which  he  could  not  overlook 
was,  unhappily,  the  one  that  applied  to  the  only 
woman  who  had  as  yet  moved  his  heart.  He  tried 
to  be  angry  with  her,  but  after  the  first  hour  he 
found  it  impossible.  He  was  a  man  of  too  much 
imagination  not  to  be  able  to  put  himself,  in  some 
measure  at  least,  in  her  place, — to  perceive  that  for 
her  the  step  which  had  placed  her  in  Tryon's  world 
was  the  working  out  of  nature's  great  law  of  self- 
preservation,  for  which  he  could  not  blame  her. 
But  for  the  sheerest  accident,  —  no,  rather,  but  for 
a  providential  interference,  —  he  would  have  mar- 
ried her,  and  might  have  gone  to  the  grave  uncon- 
scious that  she  was  other  than  she  seemed. 

The  clock  struck  the  hour  of  two.  With  a 
shiver  he  closed  the  window,  undressed  by  the 
moonlight,  drew  down  the  shade,  and  went  to  bed. 
He  fell  into  an  unquiet  slumber,  and  dreamed 
asfain  of  Kena.  He  must  learn  to  control  his 
waking  thoughts  ;  his  dreams  could  not  be  curbed. 
In  that  realm  Rena's  image  was  for  many  a  day 
to  remain  supreme.  He  dreamed  of  her  sweet 
smile,  her  soft  touch,  her  gentle  voice.     In  all  her 


THE  BOTTOM  FALLS  OUT  147 

fair  yoiing  beauty  she  stood  before  liim,  and  then 
by  some  liellisli  magic  she  was  slowly  transformed 
into  a  hideous  black  hag.  With  agonized  eyes  he 
watched  her  beautiful  tresses  become  mere  wisps 
of  coarse  wool,  wrapped  round  with  dingy  cotton 
strings ;  he  saw  her  clear  eyes  grow  bloodshot, 
her  ivory  teeth  turn  to  unwholesome  fangs.  With 
a  shudder  he  awoke,  to  find  the  cold  gray  dawn 
of  a  rainy  day  steahng  through  the  window. 

He  rose,  dressed  himself,  went  down  to  break- 
fast, then  entered  the  writing-room  and  penned  a 
letter  which,  after  reading  it  over,  he  tore  into 
small  pieces  and  threw  into  the  waste-basket.  A 
second  shared  the  same  fate.  Giving  up  the  task, 
he  left  the  hotel  and  walked  down  to  Dr,  Green's 
office. 

"Is  the  doctor  in?"  he  asked  of  the  colored 
attendant. 

"  No,  suh,"  rephed  the  man;  "  he  's  gone  ter  see 
de  yoimg  cullud  gal  w'at  fainted  w'en  de  doctuh 
was  wid  you  yistiddy." 

Tryon  sat  down  at  the  doctor's  desk  and  hastily 
scrawled  a  note,  stating  that  business  compelled 
his  immediate  departure.  He  thanked  the  doctor 
for  courtesies  extended,  and  left  his  regards  for 
the  ladies.  Returning  to  the  hotel,  he  paid  his 
bill  and  took  a  hack  for  the  wharf,  from  which  a 
boat  was  due  to  leave  at  nine  o'clock. 

As  the  hack  drove  down  Front  Street,  Tryon 
noted  idly  the  houses  that  lined  the  street.  When 
he  reached  the  sordid  district  in  the  lower  part  of 


148       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

the  town,  there  was  nothing  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion until  the  carriage  came  abreast  of  a  row  of 
cedar-trees,  beyond  which  could  be  seen  the  upper 
part  of  a  large  house  with  dormer  windows.  Be- 
fore the  gate  stood  a  horse  and  buggy,  which  Tryon 
thought  he  recognized  as  Dr.  Green's.  He  leaned 
forward  and  addressed  the  driver. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  lives  there  ? "  Tryon 
asked,  pointing  to  the  house. 

"  A  cullud  'oman,  suh,"  the  man  replied,  touch- 
ing his  hat.  "  Mis'  Molly  Walden  an'  her  daughter 
Rena." 

The  vivid  impression  he  received  of  this  house, 
and  the  spectre  that  rose  before  him  of  a  pale, 
broken-hearted  girl  within  its  gray  walls,  weeping 
for  a  lost  lover  and  a  vanished  dream  of  happiness, 
did  not  argue  well  for  Tryon' s  future  peace  of 
mind.  Rena's  image  was  not  to  be  easily  expelled 
from  his  heart ;  for  the  laws  of  nature  are  higher 
and  more  potent  than  merely  human  institutions, 
and  upon  anything  like  a  fair  field  are  likely  to 
win  in  the  long  run. 


xvn 

TWO    LETTERS 

Warwick  awaited  events  with  some  calmness 
and  some  philosophy,  —  he  could  hardly  have  had 
the  one  without  the  other ;  and  it  required  much 
philosophy  to  make  him  wait  a  week  in  patience 
for  information  upon  a  subject  in  which  he  was  so 
vitally  interested.  The  delay  pointed  to  disaster. 
Bad  news  being  expected,  delay  at  least  put  off 
the  evil  day.  At  the  end  of  the  week  he  received 
two  letters,  —  one  addressed  in  his  o^vn  hand- 
writing and  postmarked  Patesville,  N.  C.  ;  the 
other  in  the  handwriting  of  George  Tryon.  He 
opened  the  Patesville  letter,  which  ran  as  fol- 
lows :  — 

My  dear  Son,  —  Frank  is  writing  this  letter 
for  me.  I  am  not  well,  but,  thank  the  Lord,  I 
am  better  than  I  was. 

Rena  has  had  a  heap  of  trouble  on  account  of 
me  and  my  sickness.  If  I  could  of  dreamt  that  I 
was  going  to  do  so  much  harm,  I  would  of  died  and 
gone  to  meet  my  God  without  wi'iting  one  word  to 
spoil  my  girl's  chances  in  life  ;  but  I  did  n't  know 
what  was  going  to  happen,  and  I  hope  the  Lord 
will  forgive  me. 


150       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

Frank  knows  all  about  it,  and  so  I  am  having 
him  write  this  letter  for  me,  as  Eena  is  not  well 
enough  yet.  Frank  has  been  very  good  to  me 
and  to  Rena.  He  was  down  to  your  place  and 
saw  Rena  there,  and  never  said  a  word  about  it  to 
nobody,  not  even  to  me,  because  he  did  n't  want 
to  do  Rena  no  harm.  Frank  is  the  best  friend  I 
have  got  in  town,  because  he  does  so  much  for  me 
and  don't  want  nothing  in  return.  (He  tells  me 
not  to  put  this  in  about  him,  but  I  want  you  to 
know  it.) 

And  now  about  Rena.  She  come  to  see  me, 
and  I  got  better  right  away,  for  it  was  longing  for 
her  as  much  as  anything  else  that  made  me  sick, 
and  I  was  mighty  mizzable.  When  she  had  been 
here  three  days  and  was  going  back  next  day,  she 
went  up  town  to  see  the  doctor  for  me,  and  while 
she  was  up  there  she  fainted  and  fell  down  in  the 
street,  and  Dr.  Green  sent  her  home  in  his  buggy 
and  come  down  to  see  her.  He  could  n't  tell  what 
was  the  matter  with  her,  but  she  has  been  sick  ever 
since  and  out  of  her  head  some  of  the  time,  and 
keeps  on  calling  on  somebody  by  the  name  of 
George,  which  was  the  young  white  man  she  told 
me  she  was  going  to  marry.  It  seems  he  was  in 
town  the  day  Rena  was  took  sick,  for  Frank  saw 
him  up  street  and  run  all  the  way  down  here  to  tell 
me,  so  that  she  could  keep  out  of  his  way,  while  she 
was  still  up  town  waiting  for  the  doctor  and  getting 
me  some  camphor  gum  for  my  camphor  bottle.  Old 
Judge  Straight  must  have  knowed  something  about 


TWO  LETTERS  151  I 


it,  for  he  sent  me  k  note  to  keep  Rena  in  the  house, 
but  the  little  boy  he  sent  it  by  did  n't  brmg  it  till 
Rena  was  already  gone  up  town,  and,  as  I  couldn't 
read,  of  course  I  didn't  know  what  it  said.  Dr. 
Green  heard  Rena  running  on  while  she  was  out  of 
her  head,  and  I  reckon  he  must  have  suspicioned 
something,  for  he  looked  kind  of  queer  and  went 
away  without  saying  nothing.  Frank  says  she  met 
this  man  on  the  street,  and  when  he  found  out  she 
was  n't  white,  he  said  or  done  something  that  broke 
her  heart  and  she  fainted  and  fell  down. 

I  am  writing  you  this  letter  because  I  know  you 
will  be  worrying  about  Rena  not  coming  back.  If 
it  was  n't  for  Frank,  I  hardly  know  how  I  could 
write  to  you.  Frank  is  not  going  to  say  nothing 
about  Rena's  passing  for  white  and  meeting  this 
man,  and  neither  am  I ;  and  I  don't  suppose  Judge 
Straight  will  say  nothing,  because  he  is  our  good 
friend ;  and  Dr.  Green  won't  say  nothing  about  it, 
because  Frank  says  Dr.  Green's  cook  Nancy  says 
this  young  man  named  George  stopped  with  him 
and  was  some  cousin  or  relation  to  the  family,  and 
they  would  n't  want  people  to  know  that  any  of  their 
kin  was  thinking  about  marrying  a  colored  girl, 
and  the  white  folks  have  all  been  mad  since  J.  B. 
Thompson  married  his  black  housekeeper  when  she 
got  religion  and  would  n't  live  with  him  no  more. 

All  the  rest  of  the  connection  are  well.  I  have 
just  been  in  to  see  how  Rena  is.  She  is  feehng 
some  better,  I  think,  and  says  give  you  her  love 
and  she  will  write  you  a  letter  in  a  few  days,  as 


152       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

soon  as  she  is  well  enough.  She  bust  out  crying 
while  she  was  talking,  but  I  reckon  that  is  better 
than  being  out  of  her  head.  I  hope  this  may  find 
you  well,  and  that  this  man  of  Rena's  won't  say 
nor  do  nothing  down  there  to  hurt  you.  He  has 
not  wi'ote  to  Rena  nor  sent  her  no  word.  I  reckon 
he  is  very  mad. 

Your  affectionate  mother, 

Mary  Walden. 

This  letter,  while  confirming  Warwick's  fears, 
relieved  his  suspense.  He  at  least  knew  the  worst, 
unless  there  should  be  something  still  more  disturb- 
ing in  Try  on' s  letter,  which  he  now  proceeded  to 
open,  and  which  ran  as  follows :  — 

John  Warwick,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir^  —  When  I  inform  you,  as  you  are 
doubtless  informed  ere  the  receipt  of  this,  that  I 
saw  your  sister  in  Patesville  last  week  and  learned 
the  nature  of  those  antecedents  of  yours  and  hers 
at  which  you  hinted  so  obscurely  in  a  recent  con- 
versation, you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
I  take  this  opportunity  of  renouncing  any  preten- 
sions to  Miss  Warwick's  hand,  and  request  you  to 
convey  this  message  to  her,  since  it  was  through 
you  that  I  formed  her  acquaintance.  I  think  per- 
haps that  few  white  men  would  deem  it  necessary 
to  make  an  explanation  under  the  circumstances, 
and  I  do  not  know  that  I  need  say  more  than 
that  no  one,  considering  where  and  how  I  met  your 


TWO   LETTERS  153 

sister,  would  have  dreamed  of  even  the  possibility 
of  what  I  have  learned.  I  might  with  justice  re- 
proach you  for  trifling  with  the  most  sacred  feel- 
ings of  a  man's  heart ;  but  I  realize  the  hardship 
of  your  position  and  hers,  and  can  make  allowances. 
I  woidd  never  have  sought  to  know  this  thing ;  I 
would  doubtless  have  been  happier  had  I  gone 
through  life  without  finding  it  out ;  but  having  the 
knowledge,  I  cannot  ignore  it,  as  you  must  under- 
stand perfectly  well.  I  regret  that  she  should  be 
distressed  or  disappointed,  —  she  has  not  suffered 
alone. 

I  need  scarcely  assure  you  that  I  shall  say 
nothing  about  this  affair,  and  that  I  shall  keep 
your  secret  as  though  it  were  my  own.  Personally, 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  think  of  you  as  other  than 
a  white  man,  as  you  may  gather  from  the  tone  of 
this  letter ;  and  while  I  cannot  marry  your  sister, 
I  wish  her  every  happiness,  and  remain. 

Yours  very  truly, 

George  Tryox. 

Warwick  could  not  know  that  this  formal  epistle 
was  the  last  of  a  dozen  that  Tryon  had  written  and 
destroyed  during  the  week  since  the  meeting  in 
Pates^dlle,  —  hot,  blistering*-  letters,  cold,  cutting 
letters,  scornful,  crushing  letters.  Though  none  of 
them  was  sent,  except  this  last,  they  had  furnished 
a  safety-valve  for  his  emotions,  and  had  left  him  in 
a  state  of  mind  that  permitted  him  to  write  the 
foregomg. 


154        THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

And  now,  while  Rena  is  recovering  from  her  ill- 
ness, and  Tryon  from  his  love,  and  while  Fate  is 
shuffling  the  cards  for  another  deal,  a  few  words 
may  be  said  about  the  past  life  of  the  peojile  who 
lived  in  the  rear  of  the  flower  garden,  in  the  quaint 
old  house  beyond  the  cedars,  and  how  their  lives 
were  mingled  with  those  of  the  men  and  women 
around  them  and  others  that  were  gone.  For  con- 
nected with  our  kind  we  must  be ;  if  not  by  our 
virtues,  then  by  our  vices,  —  if  not  by  our  services, 
at  least  by  our  needs. 


XVIII 

TINDER   THE    OLD   REGIME 

For  many  years  before  the  civil  war  there  had 
lived,  iu  the  old  house  behind  the  cedars,  a  free 
colored  woman  who  went  by  the  name  of  Molly 
Walden  —  her  rightful  name,  for  her  parents 
were  free-born  and  legally  married.  She  was  a  tall 
woman,  straight  as  an  arrow.  Her  complexion  in 
youth  was  of  an  old  ivory  tint,  which  at  the  period 
of  this  story,  time  had  darkened  measurably.  Her 
black  eyes,  now  faded,  had  once  sparkled  with  the 
fire  of  youth.  High  cheek-bones,  straight  black 
hair,  and  a  certain  dignified  reposefulness  of  man- 
ner pointed  to  an  aboriginal  descent.  Tradition 
gave  her  to  the  negro  race.  Doubtless  she  had  a 
strain  of  each,  with  white  blood  very  visibly  pre- 
dominating over  both.  In  Louisiana  or  the  West 
Indies  she  would  have  been  called  a  quadroon,  or 
more  loosely,  a  Creole  ;  in  North  Carolina,  where 
fine  distinctions  were  not  the  rule  in  matters 
of  color,  she  was  sufficiently  differentiated  when 
described  as  a  bright  mulatto. 

Molly's  free  birth  carried  with  it  certain  advan- 
tages, even  in  the  South  before  the  war.  Though 
degraded  fi'om  its  high  estate,  and  shorn  of  its 


i 


156       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

choicest  attributes,  the  word  "  freedom "  had 
nevertheless  a  cheerful  sound,  and  described  a  con- 
dition that  left  even  to  colored  people  who  could 
claim  it  some  liberty  of  movement  and  some  con- 
trol of  their  own  persons.  They  were  not  citizens, 
■J  yet  they  were  not  slaves.     No  negro,  save  in  books, 

ever  refused  freedom  ;  many  of  them  ran  frightf id 
risks  to  achieve  it.  Molly's  parents  were  of  the 
class,  more  numerous  in  North  Carohna  than  else- 
where, known  as  "  old  issue  free  negroes,"  which 
took  its  rise  in  the  misty  colonial  period,  when  race 
lines  were  not  so  closely  drawn,  and  the  popidation 
of  North  Carolina  comprised  many  Indians,  run- 
away negroes,  and  indentured  white  servants  from 
the  seaboard  plantations,  who  mingled  their  blood 
with  gi'eat  freedom  and  small  formality.  Free 
colored  people  in  North  Carolina  exercised  the 
right  of  suffrage  as  late  as  1835,  and  some  of  them, 
in  spite  of  galling  restrictions,  attained  to  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  prosperity,  and  dreamed  of  a 
still  brighter  future,  when  the  growing  tyranny  of 
the  slave  power  crushed  their  hopes  and  crowded 
the  free  people  back  upon  the  black  mass  just 
beneath  them.  Mis'  Molly's  father  had  been  at 
one  time  a  man  of  some  means.  In  an  evil  hour, 
with  an  overweening  confidence  in  his  fellow  men, 
he  indorsed  a  note  for  a  white  man  who,  in  a 
moment  of  financial  hardship,  clapped  his  colored 
neighbor  on  the  back  and  called  him  brother.  Not 
poverty,  but  wealth,  is  the  most  potent  leveler. 
In  due  time  the  indorser  was  called  upon  to  meet 


UNDER  THE   OLD  REGIME  157 

the  maturing  obligation.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  a  series  of  financial  difficulties  which  speedily 
involved  him  in  ruin.  He  died  prematurely,  a  dis- 
appointed and  disheartened  man,  leaving  his  family 
in  dire  poverty. 

His  widow  and  surviving  children  lived  on  for 
a  little  while  at  the  house  he  had  owned,  just  out- 
side of  the  towTi,  on  one  of  the  main  traveled  roads. 
By  the  wayside,  near  the  house,  there  was  a  famous 
deep  well.  The  shm,  barefoot  girl,  with  sparkling 
eyes  and  voluminous  hair,  who  played  about  the 
yard  and  sometimes  handed  water  in  a  gourd  to 
travelers,  did  not  long  escape  critical  observation. 
A  gentleman  drove  by  one  day,  stoj^ped  at  the 
well,  smiled  upon  the  girl,  and  said  kind  words.  He 
came  again,  more  than  once,  and  soon,  while 
scarcely  more  than  a  child  in  years,  INIolly  was 
li\dng  in  her  own  house,  hers  by  deed  of  gift,  for 
her  protector  was  rich  and  liberal.  Her  mother 
nevermore  knew  want.  Her  poor  relations  could 
always  find  a  meal  in  Molly's  kitchen.  She  did 
not  flaunt  her  pros2)erity  in  the  world's  face ;  she 
hid  it  discreetly  behind  the  cedar  screen.  Those 
who  Abashed  could  know  of  it,  for  there  were  few 
secrets  in  Patesville ;  those  who  chose  coidd  as 
easily  ignore  it.  There  were  few  to  trouble  them- 
selves about  the  secluded  life  of  an  obscure  woman 
of  a  class  which  had  no  recognized  place  in  the 
social  economy.  She  worshiped  the  ground  upon 
which  her  lord  walked,  was  hmnbly  grateful  for 
his  protection,  and  quite  as  faithf id  as  the  forbidden 


158       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

marriage  vow  could  possibly  have  made  lier.  She 
led  her  life  in  material  peace  and  comfort,  and 
with  a  certain  amount  of  dignity.  Of  her  false 
relation  to  society  she  was  not  without  some 
vague  conception  ;  but  the  moral  point  involved 
was  so  confused  with  other  questions  growing  out 
of  slavery  and  caste  as  to  cause  her,  as  a  rule,  but 
little  uneasiness ;  and  only  now  and  then,  in  the 
moments  of  deeper  feehng  that  come  sometimes  to 
all  who  live  and  love,  did  there  break  through  the 
mists  of  ignorance  and  prejudice  surrounding  her 
a  flash  of  light  by  which  she  saw,  so  far  as  she 
w^as  capable  of  seeing,  her  true  position,  which  in 
the  clear  hght  of  truth  no  special  pleading  could 
entirely  justify.  For  she  was  free,  she  had  not 
the  slave's  excuse.  With  every  inducement  to  do 
evil  and  few  incentives  to  do  well,  and  hence 
entitled  to  charitable  judgment,  she  yet  had  free- 
dom of  choice,  and  therefore  coidd  not  wholly  es- 
cape blame.  Let  it  be  said,  in  further  extenuation, 
that  no  other  w^oman  lived  in  nes^lect  or  sorrow 
because  of  her.  She  robbed  no  one  else.  For 
what  life  gave  her  she  returned  an  equivalent ;  and 
what  she  did  not  pay,  her  children  settled  to  the 
last  farthing. 

Several  years  before  the  war,  when  Mis'  Molly's 
daughter  Rena  was  a  few  years  old,  death  had 
suddenly  removed  the  source  of  their  prosperity. 

The  household  was  not  left  entirely  destitute. 
Mis'  Molly  owTied  her  home,  and  had  a  store  of 
gold  pieces  in  the  chest  beneath  her  bed.     A  small 


UNDER  THE  OLD  REGIME  159 

piece  of  real  estate  stood  in  the  name  of  each  of 
the  children,  the  income  from  which  contributed  to 
their  maintenance.  Larger  expectations  were  de- 
pendent upon  the  discovery  of  a  promised  w^ill, 
which  never  came  to  light.  Mis'  Molly  wore  black 
for  several  years  after  this  bereavement,  until  the 
teacher  and  the  preacher,  following  close  upon  the 
heels  of  military  occupation,  suggested  to  the  col- 
ored people  new  standards  of  life  and  character,  in 
the  light  of  which  Mis'  Molly  laid  her  mourning 
sadly  and  shamefacedly  aside.  She  had  eaten  of 
the  fruit  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge.  After  the  war 
she  formed  the  habit  of  church-going,  and  might 
have  been  seen  now  and  then,  with  her  daughter,  in 
a  retired  corner  of  the  gallery  of  the  white  Episco- 
pal church.  Upon  the  ground  floor  w^as  a  certain 
pew  which  coidd  be  seen  from  her  seat,  where  once 
had  sat  a  gentleman  whose  pleasures  had  not  inter- 
fered with  the  practice  of  his  religion.  She  might 
have  had  a  better  seat  in  a  church  where  a  Northern 
missionary  would  have  preached  a  sermon  better 
suited  to  her  comprehension  and  her  moral  needs, 
but  she  preferred  the  other.  She  w^as  not  white, 
alas  !  she  was  shut  out  from  this  seeming  paradise  ; 
but  she  liked  to  see  the  distant  glow  of  the  celestial 
city,  and  to  recall  the  days  when  she  had  basked  in 
its  radiance.  She  did  not  sympathize  greatly  with 
the  new  era  opened  up  for  the  emancipated  slaves  ; 
she  had  no  ideal  love  of  hbertv  ;  she  was  no  broader 
and  no  more  altruistic  than  the  white  people  around 
her,  to  whom  she  had  always  looked  up ;  and  she 


160       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

sighed  for  the  old  days,  because  to  her  they  had 
been  the  good  days.  Now,  not  only  was  her  king 
dead,  but  the  shield  of  his  memory  protected  her 
no  longer. 

Molly  had  lost  one  child,  and  his  grave  was 
visible  from  the  kitchen  window,  under  a  small 
chunp  of  cedars  in  the  rear  of  the  two-acre  lot. 
For  even  in  the  to^vns  many  a  household  had  its 
private  cemetery  in  those  old  days  when  the  living 
were  close  to  the  dead,  and  ghosts  were  not  the 
mere  i^himeras  of  a  sick  imagination,  but  real 
though  unsubstantial  entities,  of  which  it  was  al- 
most disgraceful  not  to  have  seen  one  or  two. 
Had  not  the  Witch  of  Endor  called  up  the  shade 
of  Samuel  the  prophet?  Had  not  the  spirit  of 
Mis'  Molly's  dead  son  appeared  to  her,  as  well 
as  the  ghostly  presence  of  another  she  had  loved  ? 

In  1855,  Mis'  Molly's  remaining  son  had  grown 
into  a  tall,  slender  lad  of  fifteen,  with  his  father's 
patrician  features  and  his  mother's  Indian  hair, 
and  no  external  sign  to  mark  liim  off  from  the 
white  boys  on  the  street.  But  early  in  life  he 
learned  that  there  was  a  difference.  He  was  in- 
formed one  day  that  he  was  black.  He  denied  the 
proposition  and  thrashed  the  child  who  made  it. 
The  scene  was  repeated  the  next  day,  with  a  vari- 
ation, —  he  was  himself  thrashed  by  a  larger  boy. 
When  he  had  been  beaten  five  or  six  times,  he 
ceased  to  argue  the  point,  though  to  himself  he 
never  admitted  the  charge.  His  playmates  might 
caU  him  black  ;  the  mirror  proved  that  God,  the 


UNDER  THE   OLD  REGBIE  161 

Father  of  all,  had  made  him  white  ;  and  God,  he 
had  been  taught,  made  no  mistakes,  —  having 
made  him  white,  He  must  have  meant  him  to  be 
white. 

In  the  "  hall  "  or  parlor  of  his  mother's  house 
stood  a  quaintly  carved  black  walnut  bookcase, 
containing  a  small  but  remarkable  collection  of 
books,  which  had  at  one  time  been  used,  in  his 
hours  of  retreat  and  relaxation  from  business  and 
politics,  by  the  distinguished  gentleman  who  did 
not  give  liis  name  to  Mis'  Molly's  children,  —  to 
whom  it  woidd  have  been  a  valuable  heritage,  could 
they  have  had  the  right  to  bear  it.  Among  the 
books  were  a  volume  of  Fielding's  complete  works, 
in  fine  print,  set  in  double  columns  ;  a  set  of  Bul- 
wer's  novels  ;  a  collection  of  everything  that  Walter 
Scott  —  the  Hterary  idol  of  the  South  —  had  ever 
written  ;  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  plays,  cheek  by 
jowl  with  the  history  of  the  virtuous  Clarissa  Har- 
lowe  ;  the  Spectator  and  Tristram  Shandy,  Robinson 
Crusoe  and  the  Arabian  Nights.  On  these  secluded 
shelves  Roderick  Random,  Don  Quixote,  and  Gil 
Bias  for  a  long  time  ceased  their  wanderings,  the 
Pilgi'im's  ProgTCSs  was  suspended,  Milton's  mighty 
harmonies  were  dmnb,  and  Shakespeare  reigned 
over  a  silent  kingdom.  An  illustrated  Bible,  mth  a 
wonderful  Apocrypha,  was  flanked  on  one  side  by 
Vohiey's  Ruins  of  Empire  and  on  the  other  by 
Paine's  Age  of  Reason,  for  the  collector  of  the 
books  had  been  a  man  of  catholic  taste  as  well  as 
of    inquiring  mind,  and   no  one  who  could  have 


162       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

criticised  his  reading  ever  penetrated  beliind  the 
cedar  hedge.  A  history  of  the  French  Kevokition 
consorted  amiably  with  a  homespun  chronicle  of 
North  Carolina,  rich  in  biographical  notices  of 
distinguished  citizens  and  inscriptions  from  their 
tombstones,  upon  reading  which  one  might  well 
wonder  why  North  Carolina  had  not  long  ago 
eclipsed  the  rest  of  the  world  in  wealth,  wisdom, 
glory,  and  renown.  On  almost  every  page  of  this 
monumental  work  could  be  found  the  most  ardent 
panegyrics  of  liberty,  side  by  side  with  the  slavery 
statistics  of  the  State,  —  an  incongruity  of  which 
the  learned  author  w^as  deliciously  unconscious. 

When  John  Walden  was  yet  a  small  boy,  he 
had  learned  all  that  coidd  be  taught  by  the  faded 
mulatto  teacher  in  the  long,  shiny  black  frock 
coat,  whom  local  public  opinion  permitted  to  teach 
a  handful  of  free  colored  children  for  a  pittance 
barely  enough  to  keep  soul  and  body  together. 
When  the  boy  had  learned  to  read,  he  discovered 
the  library,  which  for  several  years  had  been  with- 
out a  reader,  and  found  in  it  the  portal  of  a  new 
world,  peopled  with  strange  and  marvelous  beings. 
Lying  prone  upon  the  floor  of  the  shaded  front 
piazza,  behind  the  fi'agrant  garden,  he  followed 
the  fortunes  of  Tom  Jones  and  Sophia ;  he  wept 
over  the  fate  of  Eugene  Aram  ;  he  penetrated  with 
Richard  the  Lion-heart  into  Saladin's  tent,  with 
Gil  Bias  into  the  robbers'  cave ;  he  flew  through 
the  air  on  the  magic  carpet  or  the  enchanted  horse, 
or  tied  with  Sindbad  to  the  roc's  leg.     Sometimes 


UNDER  THE  OLD  REGIME  163 

he  read  or  repeated  tlie  simpler  stories  to  liis  little 
sister,  sitting  wide-eyed  by  his  side.  When  he  had 
read  all  the  books, — indeed,  long  before  he  had 
read  them  all,  —  he  too  had  tasted  of  the  fruit  of 
the  Tree  of  Knowledge  :  contentment  took  its  flight, 
and  happiness  lay  far  beyond  the  sphere  where 
he  was  born.  The  blood  of  his  white  fathers,  the 
heirs  of  the  ages,  cried  out  for  its  own,  and  after 
the  manner  of  that  blood  set  about  getting  the 
object  of  its  desire. 

Near  the  corner  of  Mackenzie  Street,  just  one 
block  north  of  the  Patesville  market-house,  there 
had  stood  for  many  years  before  the  war,  on  the 
verge  of  the  steep  bank  of  Beaver  Creek,  a  small 
frame  office  building,  the  front  of  which  was  level 
with  the  street,  wliile  the  rear  rested  on  long  brick 
pillars  founded  on  the  solid  rock  at  the  edge  of  the 
brawling  stream  below.  Here,  for  nearly  half  a 
century,  Archibald  Straight  had  transacted  legal 
business  for  the  best  people  of  Northumberland 
County.  Full  many  a  lawsuit  had  he  won,  lost,  or 
settled;  many  a  spendthrift  had  he  saved  from 
ruin,  and  not  a  few  families  from  disgrace.  Sev- 
eral times  honored  by  election  to  the  bench,  he 
had  so  dispensed  justice  tempered  ^vith  mercy  as 
to  vnn  the  hearts  of  all  good  citizens,  and  espe- 
cially those  of  the  poor,  the  oppressed,  and  the 
socially  disinherited.  The  rights  of  the  humblest 
negi'o,  few  as  they  might  be,  were  as  sacred  to 
him  as  those  of  the  proudest  aristocrat,  and  he 
had  sentenced  a  man  to  be  hanged  for  the  murder 


164       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

of  his  own  slave.  An  old-fashioned  man,  tall  and 
spare  of  figure  and  bowed  somewhat  with  age,  he 
was  always  correctly  clad  in  a  long  frock  coat  of 
broadcloth,  with  a  high  collar  and  a  black  stock. 
Courtly  in  address  to  his  social  equals  (superiors 
he  had  none),  he  was  kind  and  considerate  to 
those  beneath  him.  He  owned  a  few  domestic 
servants,  no  one  of  whom  had  ever  felt  the  weight 
of  his  hand,  and  for  whose  ultimate  freedom  he 
had  provided  in  his  will.  In  the  long-drawn-out 
slavery  agitation  he  had  taken  a  keen  interest, 
rather  as  observer  than  as  participant.  As  the  heat 
of  controversy  increased,  his  lack  of  zeal  for  the 
peculiar  institution  led  to  his  defeat  for  the  bench 
by  a  more  active  partisan.  His  was  too  just  a 
mind  not  to  perceive  the  arguments  on  both  sides ; 
but,  on  the  whole,  he  had  stood  by  the  ancient 
landmarks,  content  to  let  events  drift  to  a  conclu- 
sion he  did  not  expect  to  see ;  the  institutions  of 
his  fathers  would  probably  last  liis  lifetime. 

One  day  Judge  Straight  was  sitting  in  his 
office  reading  a  recently  published  pamphlet,  —  pre- 
senting an  elaborate  pro-slavery  argument,  based 
upon  the  hopeless  intellectual  inferiority  of  the 
negro,  and  the  physical  and  moral  degeneration 
of  mulattoes,  who  combined  the  worst  qualities  of 
their  two  ancestral  races,  —  when  a  barefooted  boy 
walked  into  the  office,  straw  hat  in  hand,  came 
boldly  up  to  the  desk  at  which  the  old  judge  was 
sitting,  and  said  as  the  judge  looked  up  through 
his  gold-rimmed  glasses,  — 


UNDER  THE  OLD  REGIME  165 

"  Sir,  I  want  to  be  a  lawyer  !  " 

"  God  bless  me !  "  exclaimed  tbe  judge.  "It  is 
a  singular  desire,  from  a  singular  source,  and  ex- 
pressed in  a  singular  way.  Who  the  devil  are 
you,  sir,  that  wish  so  strange  a  thing  as  to  become 
a  lawyer  —  everybody's  servant  ?  " 

"  And  everybody's  master,  sir,"  replied  the  lad 
stoutly. 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  opinion,  and  open  to  argu- 
ment," rejoined  the  judge,  amused  and  secretly 
flattered  by  this  tribute  to  his  profession,  "  though 
there  may  be  a  gTain  of  truth  in  what  you  say. 
But  what  is  your  name,  Mr.  Would-be-lawyer  ?  " 

"  John  Walden,  sir,"  answered  the  lad. 

"  Jolm  Walden  ?  —  Walden  ?  "  mused  the  judge. 
"  What  Walden  can  that  be  ?  Do  you  belong  in 
town  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Humph  !  I  can't  imagine  who  you  are.  It 's 
plain  that  you  are  a  lad  of  good  blood,  and  yet  I 
don't  know  whose  son  you  can  be.  What  is  your 
father's  name?  " 

The  lad  hesitated,  and  flushed  crimson. 

The  old  gentleman  noted  his  hesitation.  "  It 
is  a  wise  son,"  he  thought,  "  that  knows  his  own 
father.  He  is  a  bright  lad,  and  will  have  this 
question  put  to  him  more  than  once.  I  '11  see 
how  he  will  answer  it." 

The  boy  maintained  an  awkward  silence,  while 
the  old  judge  eyed  him  keenly. 

"  My  father 's  dead,"  he  said  at  length,  in  a  low 


166       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

voice.  "I'm  Mis'  Molly  Walden's  son."  He 
had  expected,  of  course,  to  tell  who  he  was,  if 
asked,  but  had  not  foreseen  just  the  form  of  the 
inquiry;  and  while  he  had  thought  more  of  his 
race  than  of  his  illegitimate  birth,  he  realized  at 
this  moment  as  never  before  that  this  question  too 
woidd  be  always  with  him.  As  put  now  by  Judge 
Straight,  it  made  him  wince.  He  had  not  read  his 
father's  books  for  nothing. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  exclaimed  the  judge  in 
genuine  surprise  at  this  answer ;  "  and  you  want 
to  be  a  lawyer !  "  The  situation  was  so  much 
worse  than  he  had  suspected  that  even  an  old 
practitioner,  case-hardened  by  years  of  life  at  the 
trial  table  and  on  the  bench,  was  startled  for  a 
moment  into  a  comical  sort  of  consternation,  so 
apparent  that  a  lad  less  stout-hearted  would  have 
weakened  and  fled  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Why  not  ?  "  responded  the  boy, 
trembling  a  little  at  the  knees,  but  stoutly  holding 
his  groimd. 

"  He  wants  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  he  asks  me  why 
not !  "  muttered  the  judge,  speaking  apparently  to 
himself.  He  rose  from  his  chair,  walked  across 
the  room,  and  threw  open  a  window.  The  cool 
morning  air  brought  with  it  the  babbling  of  the 
stream  below  and  the  murmur  of  the  mill  near  by. 
He  glanced  across  the  creek  to  the  ruined  founda- 
tion of  an  old  house  on  the  low  ground  beyond  the 
creek.  Turning  from  the  window,  he  looked  back 
at  the  boy,  who  had  remained  standing  between 


UNDER  THE   OLD   REGIME  167 

him  and  the  door.  At  that  moment  another  lad 
came  along  the  street  and  stopped  opposite  the 
open  doorway.  The  presence  of  the  two  boys  in 
connection  wdth  the  book  he  had  been  reading 
suggested  a  comparison.  The  judge  knew  the  lad 
outside  as  the  son  of  a  leading  merchant  of  the 
town.  The  merchant  and  his  wife  were  both  of 
old  families  which  had  lived  in  the  community 
for  several  generations,  and  whose  blood  was 
presumably  of  the  purest  stram ;  yet  the  boy 
was  sallow,  with  amorphous  features,  thin  shanks, 
and  stooping  shoulders.  The  youth  standing  in 
the  judge's  office,  on  the  contrary,  was  straight, 
shapely,  and  well-grown.  His  eye  was  clear,  and 
he  kept  it  fixed  on  the  old  gentleman  with  a  look 
in  which  there  was  nothing  of  cringing.  He  was 
no  darker  than  many  a  white  boy  bronzed  by  the 
Southern  sun  ;  his  hair  and  eyes  were  black,  and 
his  features  of  the  high-bred,  clean-cut  order  that 
marks  the  patrician  t}^3e  the  world  over.  What 
struck  the  judge  most  forcibly,  however,  was  the 
lad's  resemblance  to  an  old  friend  and  companion 
and  client.  He  recalled  a  certain  conversation 
with  this  old  friend,  who  had  said  to  liim  one  day : 

"  Archie,  I  'm  commg  in  to  have  you  di^aw  my 
will.  There  are  some  children  for  whom  I  woidd 
like  to  make  ample  provision.  I  can't  give  them 
anything  else,  but  money  will  make  them  free  of 
the  world." 

The  judge's  friend  had  died  suddenly  before 
carrying  out  this  good  intention.     The  judge  had 


168       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

taken  occasion  to  suggest  the  existence  of  these 
children,  and  their  father's  intentions  concerning 
them,  to  the  distant  relatives  who  had  mherited 
his  friend's  large  estate.  They  had  chosen  to  take 
offense  at  the  suggestion.  One  had  thought  it  in 
shocking  bad  taste  ;  another  considered  any  men- 
tion of  such  a  subject  an  insult  to  his  cousin's 
memory.  A  third  had  said,  with  flashing  eyes,  that 
the  woman  and  her  children  had  already  robbed 
the  estate  of  enough ;  that  it  was  a  pity  the  little 
niggers  were  not  slaves  —  that  they  would  have 
added  measurably  to  the  value  of  the  property. 
Judge  Straight's  manner  indicated  some  disapproval 
of  their  attitude,  and  the  settlement  of  the  estate 
was  placed  in  other  hands  than  his.  Now,  this  son, 
with  his  father's  face  and  his  father's  voice,  stood 
before  his  father's  friend,  demanding  entrance  to 
the  golden  gate  of  opportunity,  which  society  barred 
to  all  who  bore  the  blood  of  the  despised  race. 

As  he  kept  on  looking  at  the  boy,  who  began  at 
length  to  grow  somewhat  embarrassed  under  this 
keen  scrutiny,  the  judge's  mind  reverted  to  certain 
laws  and  judicial  decisions  that  he  had  looked  up 
once  or  twice  in  his  lifetime.  Even  the  law,  the 
instrument  by  which  tyranny  riveted  the  chains 
upon  its  victims,  had  revolted  now  and  then  against 
the  senseless  and  unnatural  prejudice  by  which  a 
race  ascribing  its  superiority  to  right  of  blood 
permitted  a  mere  suspicion  of  servile  blood  to  out- 
weigh a  vast  preponderance  of  its  own. 

"  Why,  indeed,  should  he  not  be  a  lawyer,  or 


UNDER  THE   OLD   REGIME  169 

anything  else  that  a  man  might  be,  if  it  be  in  him  ?  " 
asked  the  judge,  speaking  rather  to  himself  than 
to  the  boy.  ^'  Sit  down,"  he  ordered,  pointing  to 
a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  That  he 
should  ask  a  colored  lad  to  be  seated  in  his  presence 
was  of  itself  enough  to  stamp  the  judge  as  eccentric. 
''  You  want  to  be  a  lawyer,"  he  went  on,  adjusting 
his  spectacles.  "  You  are  aware,  of  course,  that 
you  are  a  negro  ?  " 

"  I  am  white,"  replied  the  lad,  turning  back  his 
sleeve  and  holding  out  liis  arm,  "  and  I  am  free,  as 
all  my  people  were  before  me." 

The  old  lawyer  shook  his  head,  and  fixed  liis  eyes 
upon  the  lad  with  a  slightl}^  quizzical  smile.  "  You 
are  black,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  not  free.  You 
cannot  travel  without  your  papers ;  you  cannot 
secure  accommodations  at  an  inn ;  you  could  not 
vote,  if  you  were  of  age ;  you  cannot  be  out  after 
nine  o'clock  without  a  permit.  If  a  white  man 
struck  you,  you  could  not  return  the  blow,  and  you 
could  not  testify  against  him  in  a  court  of  justice. 
You  are  black,  my  lad,  and  you  are  not  free.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  the  Dred  Scott  decision,  delivered 
by  the  great,  wise,  and  learned  Judge  Taney  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  It  is  too  long  to  read,"  rejoined  the  judge, 
taking  up  the  pamplilet  he  had  laid  down  upon  the 
lad's  entrance,  "  but  it  says  in  substance,  as  quoted 
by  this  author,  that  negroes  are  beings  '  of  an 
inferior  order,  and  altogether  unfit  to  associate 
with  the  white  race,  either  in  social  or  political 


\l 


170       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

relations ;  in  fact,  so  inferior  that  they  have  no 
rights  which  the  white  man  is  bound  to  respect,  and 
that  the  negro  may  justly  and  lawfully  be  reduced 
to  slavery  for  his  benefit.'  That  is  the  law  of 
this  nation,  and  that  is*the  reason  why  you  cannot 
be  a  lawyer." 

"  It  may  all  be  true,"  replied  the  boy,  "  but  it 
don't  apply  to  me.  It  says  '  the  negro.'  A  negro 
is  black ;  I  am  white,  and  not  black." 

"  Black  as  ink,  my  lad,"  returned  the  lawyer, 
shaking  his  head.  "  '  One  touch  of  nature  makes 
the  whole  world  kin,'  says  the  poet.  Somewhere, 
sometime,  you  had  a  black  ancestor.  One  drop  of 
black  blood  makes  the  whole  man  black." 

"  Why  should  n't  it  be  the  other  way,  if  the 
white  blood  is  so  much  superior  ?  "  inquired  the  lad. 

"  Because  it  is  more  convenient  as  it  is  —  and 
more  profitable." 

"  It  is  not  right,"  maintained  the  lad. 

*'  God  bless  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman, 
"  he  is  invading  the  field  of  ethics !  He  will  be 
questioning  the  righteousness  of  slavery  next !  I  'm 
afraid  you  would  n't  make  a  good  lawyer,  in  any 
event.  Lawyers  go  by  the  laws  —  they  abide  by  the 
accomplished  fact ;  to  them,  whatever  is,  is  right. 
The  laws  do  not  permit  men  of  color  to  practice 
law,  and  public  sentiment  would  not  allow  one  of 
them  to  study  it." 

''  I  had  thought,"  said  the  lad,  "  that  I  might 
pass  for  white.  There  are  white  people  darker 
than  I  am." 


'# 


UNDER  THE   OLD   REGIME  171 

"  AL,  well,  that  is  another  matter ;  but " — 

The  judge  stopped  for  a  moment,  struck  by  the 
absurdity  of  his  arguing  such  a  question  with  a 
mulatto  boy.  He  really  must  be  falling  into  pre- 
mature dotage.  The  proper  thing  would  be  to 
rebuke  the  lad  for  his  presmnption  and  advise  him 
to  learn  to  take  care  of  horses,  or  make  boots,  or 
lay  bricks.  But  again  he  saw  his  old  friend  in  the 
lad's  face,  and  again  he  looked  m  vain  for  any  sign 
of  neofro  blood.  The  least  earmark  would  have 
turned  the  scale,  but  he  could  not  find  it. 

"  That  is  another  matter,"  he  repeated.  *'  Here 
you  have  started  as  black,  and  must  remain  so. 
But  if  you  wish  to  move  away,  and  sink  your  past 
into  oblivion,  the  case  might  be  different.  Let  us 
see  what  the  law  is ;  you  might  not  need  it  if  you 
went  far  enough,  but  it  is  well  enough  to  be  within 
it  —  liberty  is  sweeter  when  f omided  securely  on 
the  law." 

He  took  down  a  volume  bound  in  legal  caK  and 
glanced  through  it.  "  The  color  line  is  drawn  in 
North  Carohna  at  four  generations  removed  from 
the  negro ;  there  have  been  judicial  decisions  to 
that  effect.  I  imagine  that  would  cover  your 
case.  But  let  us  see  what  South  Carolina  may 
say  about  it,"  he  continued,  taking  another  book. 
"  1  think  the  law  is  even  more  liberal  there.  Ah, 
this  is  the  place  :  — 

"  '  The  term  mulatto,'  "  he  read,  "  '  is  not  invari- 
ably applicable  to  every  admixture  of  African  blood 
with  the  European,  nor  is  one  having   ^I  the  features 


172       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

of  a  white  to  be  ranked  with  the  degraded  class 
designated  by  the  laws  of  this  State  as  persons  of 
color,  because  of  some  remote  taint  of  the  negro 
race.  Juries  would  probably  be  justified  in  hold- 
ing a  person  to  be  wliite  in  whom  the  admixture 
of  African  blood  did  not  exceed  one  eighth.  And 
even  where  color  or  feature  are  doubtfid,  it  is  a 
question  for  the  jury  to  decide  by  reputation,  by 
reception  into  society,  and  by  their  exercise  of  the 
privileges  of  the  wliite  man,  as  well  as  by  admixture 
of  blood.'  " 

"  Then  I  need  not  be  black  ? "  the  boy  cried, 
with  sparlding  eyes. 

"  No,"  replied  the  lawyer,  "  you  need  not  be 
black,  away  from  Patesville.  You  have  the  some- 
what unusual  privilege,  it  seems,  of  choosing 
between  two  races,  and  if  you  are  a  lad  of  spirit, 
as  I  think  you  are,  it  will  not  take  you  long  to  make 
your  choice.  As  you  have  all  the  features  of  a 
white  man,  you  would,  at  least  in  South  Carolina, 
have  simply  to  assume  the  place  and  exercise  the 
privileges  of  a  white  man.  You  might,  of  course, 
do  the  same  tiling  anywhere,  as  long  as  no  one  knew 
your  origin.  But  the  matter  has  been  adjudicated 
there  in  several  cases,  and  on  the  whole  I  think 
South  Carolina  is  the  place  for  you.  They  're  more 
liberal  there,  perhaps  because  they  have  many 
more  blacks  than  whites,  and  would  like  to  lessen 
the  disproportion." 

"  From  this  time  on,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  am  white." 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  Caucasian  fellow  citizen," 


UNDER  THE   OLD  REGBIE  173 

returned  the  judge,  chuckling  with  quiet  amuse- 
ment. "  You  are  white  in  the  abstract,  before  the 
law.  You  may  cherish  the  fact  in  secret,  but  I 
would  not  advise  you  to  23roclaim  it  openly  just 
yet.  You  must  wait  until  you  go  away  —  to  South 
Carolina." 

"  And  can  I  learn  to  be  a  lawyer,  sir  ?  "  asked 
the  lad. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  ought  to  be  reason- 
ably content  for  one  day  with  what  you  have 
learned  already.  You  cannot  be  a  la\v}^er  until 
you  are  white,  in  position  as  well  as  in  theory,  nor 
until  you  are  twenty-one  years  old.  I  need  an 
office  boy.  If  j^ou  are  willing  to  come  into  my 
office,  sweep  it,  keep  my  books  dusted,  and  stay 
here  when  I  am  out,  I  do  not  care.  To  the  rest 
of  the  town  you  will  be  my  servant,  and  still  a 
negro.  If  you  choose  to  read  my  books  when  no 
one  is  about  and  be  white  in  your  o^vn  private 
opinion,  I  have  no  objection.  When  you  have 
made  up  your  mind  to  go  away,  perhaps  what  you 
have  read  may  help  you.  But  mum  's  the  word  ! 
If  I  hear  a  whisper  of  this  from  any  other  source, 
out  you  go,  neck  and  crop !  I  am  willing  to  help 
you  make  a  man  of  3  our  self,  but  it  can  only  be 
done  under  the  rose." 

For  two  years  John  Walden  openly  swept  the 
office  and  surreptitiously  read  the  law  books  of  old 
Judge  Straight.  AVhen  he  was  eighteen,  he  asked 
his  mother  for  a  sum  of  money,  kissed  her  good- 
by,  and  went  out  into  the  world.     When  his  sis- 


174       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

ter,  then  a  pretty  cliilcl  of  seven,  cried  because  her 
big  brother  was  going  away,  he  took  her  up  in  his 
arms,  gave  her  a  silver  dime  with  a  hole  in  it  for 
a  keepsake,  hugged  her  close,  and  kissed  her. 

"  Nev'  min',  sis,"  he  said  soothingly.  "  Be  a 
good  little  gal,  an'  some  o'  these  days  I  '11  come 
back  to  see  you  and  bring  you  somethin'  fuie." 

In  after  years,  when  Mis'  Molly  was  asked  what 
had  become  of  her  son,  she  would  reply  with  sad 
complacency,  — 

"  He 's  gone  over  on  the  other  side." 

As  we  have  seen,  he  came  back  ten  years  later. 

Many  years  before,  when  Mis'  Molly,  then  a 
very  young  woman,  had  taken  up  her  residence  in 
the  house  behind  the  cedars,  the  gentleman  here- 
tofore referred  to  had  built  a  cabin  on  the  opposite 
corner,  in  which  he  had  installed  a  trusted  slave 
by  the  name  of  Peter  Fowler  and  his  wife  Nancy. 
Peter  was  a  good  mechanic,  and  hired  his  time 
from  his  master  with  the  provision  that  Peter  and 
his  wife  should  do  certain  work  for  Mis'  Molly  and 
serve  as  a  sort  of  protection  for  her.  In  course  of 
time  Peter,  who  was  industrious  and  thrifty,  saved 
enough  money  to  purchase  his  freedom  and  that 
of  his  wife  and  their  one  child,  and  to  buy  the  little 
house  across  the  street,  with  the  cooper  shop  be- 
hind it.  After  they  had  acquired  their  freedom, 
Peter  and  Nancy  did  no  work  for  Mis'  Molly  save 
as  they  were  paid  for  it,  and  as  a  rule  preferred 
not  to  work  at  all  for  the  woman  who  had  been 


UNDER  THE  OLD  REGIME  175 

practically  their  mistress ;  it  made  them  seem  less 
free.  Nevertheless,  the  two  households  had  re- 
mained upon  good  terms,  even  after  the  death  of 
the  man  whose  will  had  brought  them  together, 
and  who  had  remained  Peter's  patron  after  he  had 
ceased  to  be  his  master.  There  was  no  intimate 
association  between  the  two  families.  Mis'  Molly 
felt  herself  infinitely  superior  to  Peter  and  his 
wife,  —  scarcely  less  superior  than  her  poor  white 
neighbors  felt  themselves  to  Mis'  Molly.  Mis' 
Molly  always  meant  to  be  kind,  and  treated  Peter 
and  Nancy  with  a  certain  good-natured  condescen- 
sion. They  resented  this,  never  openly  or  offen- 
sively, but  always  in  a  subconscious  sort  of 
way,  even  when  they  did  not  speak  of  it  among 
themselves  —  much  as  they  had  resented  her  mis- 
tress-ship in  the  old  days.  For  after  all,  they 
argued,  in  spite  of  her  airs  and  graces,  her  white 
face  and  her  fine  clothes,  was  she  not  a  negro, 
even  as  themselves  ?  and  since  the  slaves  had  been 
freed,  was  not  one  negro  as  good  as  another? 

Peter's  son  Frank  had  grown  up  with  little 
Kena.  He  was  several  years  older  than  she,  and 
when  Rena  was  a  small  child  Mis'  Molly  had  often 
confided  her  to  his  care,  and  he  had  watched  over 
her  and  kept  her  from  harm.  When  Frank  be- 
came old  enough  to  go  to  work  in  the  cooper  shop, 
Rena,  then  six  or  seven,  had  often  gone  across 
to  play  among  the  clean  white  shavings.  Once 
Frank,  while  learning  the  trade,  had  let  slip  a  sharp 
steel  tool,  which  fl}^ng  toward  Rena  had  grazed 


176       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

lier  arm  and  sent  the  red  blood  coursing  along  tlie 
wliite  flesh  and  soaking  the  muslin  sleeve.  He 
had  rolled  up  the  sleeve  and  stanched  the  blood 
and  dried  her  tears.  For  a  long  time  thereafter 
her  mother  kept  her  away  from  the  shop  and  was 
very  cold  to  Frank.  One  day  the  little  girl  wan- 
dered down  to  the  bank  of  the  old  canal.  It  had 
been  raining  for  several  days,  and  the  water  was 
quite  deep  in  the  channel.  The  child  slipped  and 
fell  into  the  stream.  From  the  open  window  of 
the  coojier  shop  Frank  heard  a  scream.  He  ran 
down  to  the  canal  and  pulled  her  out,  and  carried 
her  all  wet  and  dripping  to  the  house.  From  that 
time  he  had  been  restored  to  favor.  He  had 
watched  the  girl  grow  up  to  womanhood  in  the 
years  following  the  war,  and  had  been  sorry  when 
she  became  too  old  to  play  about  the  shop. 

He  never  spoke  to  her  of  love,  —  indeed,  he 
never  thought  of  his  passion  in  such  a  light. 
There  would  have  been  no  legal  barrier  to  their 
union  ;  there  would  have  been  no  frightfid  menace 
to  white  supremacy  in  the  marriage  of  the  negro 
and  the  octoroon  :  the  drop  of  dark  blood  bridged 
the  chasm.  But  Frank  laiew  that  she  did  not 
love  him,  and  had  not  hoped  that  she  might.  His 
was  one  of  those  rare  souls  that  can  give  with 
small  hope  of  return.  When  he  had  made  the 
scar  upon  her  arm,  by  the  same  token  she  had 
branded  him  her  slave  forever  ;  when  he  had  saved 
her  from  a  watery  grave,  he  had  given  his  life  to 
her.     There  are  depths  of  fidelity  and  devotion  in 


UKDER  THE   OLD  REGIME  177 

the  negro  heart  that  have  never  been  fathomed  or 
fully  appreciated.  Now  and  then  in  the  kindlier 
phases  of  slavery  these  qualities  were  brightly  con- 
spicuous, and  in  them,  if  wisely  appealed  to,  lies 
the  strongest  hope  of  amity  between  the  two  races 
whose  destiny  seems  bound  up  together  in  the 
Western  world.  Even  a  dumb  brute  can  be  won 
by  kindness.  Surely  it  were  worth  while  to  try 
some  other  weapon  than  scorn  and  contumely  and 
hard  words  upon  people  of  our  common  race,  — 
the  human  race,  which  is  bigger  and  broader  than 
Celt  or  Saxon,  barbarian  or  Greek,  Jew  or  Gen- 
tile, black  or  white ;  for  we  are  all  children  of  a 
common  Father,  forget  it  as  we  may,  and  each  one 
of  us  is  in  some  measure  his  brother's  keeper. 


XIX 

GOD   MADE   US   ALL 

Rena  was  convalescent  from  a  two-weeks'  ill- 
ness when  her  brother  came  to  see  her.  He  arrived 
at  Pates\alle  by  an  early  morning  train  before  the 
town  was  awake,  and  walked  unnoticed  from  the 
station  to  his  mother's  house.  His  meeting  mth 
his  sister  was  not  without  emotion  :  he  embraced 
her  tenderly,  and  Rena  became  for  a  few  minutes 
a  very  Niobe  of  grief. 

"  Oh,  it  was  cruel,  cruel  I  "  she  sobbed.  "  1 
shall  never  get  over  it." 

"  I  know  it,  my  dear,"  replied  Warwick  sooth- 
ingly, —  "I  know  it,  and  I  'm  to  blame  for  it.  If 
I  had  never  taken  you  away  from  here,  you  would 
have  escaped  this  painfid  experience.  But  do  not 
despair;  all  is  not  lost.  Tryon  vnR  not  marry 
you,  as  I  hoped  he  might,  while  I  feared  the  con- 
trary ;  but  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  will  be  silent. 
Come  back  and  try  again." 

"  No,  John.  I  could  n't  go  through  it  a  second 
time.  I  managed  very  well  before,  when  I  thought 
our  secret  was  unknown  ;  but  now  I  could  never 
be  sure.  It  would  be  borne  on  every  wind,  for 
aught  I  knew,  and  every  rustling  leaf  might 
whisper  it.     The  law,  you  said,  made  us  white ; 


GOD  MADE  US  ALL  179 

but  not  the  law,  nor  even  love,  can  conquer  preju- 
dice. He  spoke  of  my  beauty,  my  grace,  my 
sweetness  !  I  looked  into  his  eyes  and  believed 
him.  And  yet  he  left  me  without  a  word  !  What 
would  I  do  in  Clarence  now  ?  I  came  away  en- 
gaged to  be  married,  with  even  the  day  set ;  I 
should  go  back  forsaken  and  discredited ;  even  the 
servants  would  pity  me." 

"  Little  Albert  is  pining  for  you,"  suggested 
Warwick.  "  We  could  make  some  explanation 
that  would  spare  your  feelings." 

"  Ah,  do  not  tempt  me,  John  !  I  love  the  child, 
and  am  grieved  to  leave  him.  I  'm  gTateful,  too, 
John,  for  what  you  have  done  for  me.  I  am  not 
sorry  that  I  tried  it.  It  opened  my  eyes,  and  I 
would  rather  die  of  knowledge  than  live  in  igno- 
rance. But  I  could  not  go  tlu'ough  it  again,  John  ; 
I  am  not  strong  enough.  I  could  do  you  no  good  ; 
I  have  made  you  trouble  enough  already.  Get  a 
mother  for  Albert  —  Mrs.  Newberry  would  marry  / 
you,  secret  and  all,  and  would  be  good  to  the  child. 
Forget  me,  Jolm,  and  take  care  of  yourseK.  ,  Your 
friend  has  found  you  out  through  me  —  he  may 
have  told  a  dozen  people.  You  think  he  will  be 
silent ;  —  I  thought  he  loved  me,  and  he  left  me 
without  a  word,  and  with  a  look  that  told  me  how 
he  hated  and  despised  me.  I  would  nst  li^/e 
believed  it  —  even  of  a  white  man." 

"You  do  him  an  injustice,"  said  her  brother, 
producing  Tryon's  letter.  "He  did  not  get  off 
unscathed.     He  sent  you  a  message." 


/ 


180      THE  HOUSE   BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

Slie  turned  her  face  away,  but  listened  wliile  he 
read  the  letter.  "  He  did  not  love  me,"  she  cried 
angrily,  when  he  had  finished,  "or  he  would  not 
have  cast  me  off  —  he  would  not  have  looked  at 
me  so.  The  law  would  have  let  him  marry  me.  I 
seemed  as  white  as  he  did.  He  might  have  gone 
anywhere  with  me,  and  no  one  would  have  stared 
at  us  curiously ;  no  one  need  have  known.  The 
world  is  wide  —  there  must  be  some  place  where  a 
man  could  live  haj)pily  with  the  woman  he  loved." 

"  Yes,  Rena,  there  is  ;  and  the  world  is  wide 
enough  for  you  to  get  along  without  Tryon." 

"  For  a  day  or  two,"  she  went  on,  "  I  hoped 
he  might  come  back.  But  his  expression  in  that 
awful  moment  grew  upon  me,  haunted  me  day  and 
night,  until  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  that  I  might 
ever  see  him  again.  He  looked  at  me  as  though  I 
were  not  even  a  human  being.  I  do  not  love  him 
any  longer,  John ;  I  would  not  marry  him  if  I 
were  white,  or  he  were  as  I  am.  He  did  not  love 
me  —  or  he  would  have  acted  differently.  He 
might  have  loved  me  and  have  left  me  —  he  could 
not  have  loved  me  and  have  looked  at  me  so !  " 

She  was  weeping  hysterically.  There  was  little 
he  could  say  to  comfort  her.  Presently  she  dried 
her  tears.  Warwick  was  reluctant  to  leave  her  in 
Patesville.  Her  childish  happiness  had  been  that 
of  ignorance  ;  she  could  never  be  happy  there  again. 
She  had  flowered  in  the  sunlight ;  she  must  not 
pine  away  in  the  shade. 

"  If  you  won't  come  back  with  me,  Rena,  I  '11 


GOD   MADE   US  ALL  181 

send  you  to  some  school  at  the  North,  where  you 
can  acquire  a  liberal  education,  and  prepare  j^our- 
self  for  some  career  of  usefulness.  You  may 
marry  a  better  man  than  even  Tryon." 

"  No,"  she  replied  firmly,  "  I  shall  never  marry 
any  man,  and  I  '11  not  leave  mother  again.  God 
is  against  it ;  I  '11  stay  mth  my  o^vn  people." 

"  God  has  nothing  to  do  ^4th  it,"  retorted  "War- 
mck.  "  God  is  too  often  a  convenient  stalking- 
horse  for  human  selfisliness.  If  there  is  anything 
to  be  done,  so  unjust,  so  despicable,  so  mcked  that 
human  reason  revolts  at  it,  there  is  always  some 
smug  hypocrite  to  exclaim,  '  It  is  the  will  of  God.'  " 

"  God  made  us  all,"  continued  Rena  dreamily, 
"  and  for  some  good  purpose,  though  we  may  not 
always  see  it.  He  made  some  people  white,  and 
strong,  and  masterful,  and  —  heartless.  He  made 
others  black  and  homely,  and  poor  and  weak  " — 

"  And  a  lot  of  others  '  poor  white  '  and  shiftless,"  ;, 
smiled  Warwick.  H 

"  He  made  us,  too,"  continued  Rena,  intent  upon 
her  own  thought,  "  and  He  must  have  had  a  reason 
for  it.  Perhaps  He  meant  us  to  bring  the  others 
together  in  his  own  good  time.  A  man  may  make 
a  new  place  for  himself  —  a  woman  is  born  and 
bound  to  hers.  God  must  have  meant  me  to  stay 
here,  or  He  would  not  have  sent  me  back.  I  shall 
accept  things  as  they  are.  Why  should  I  seek  the 
society  of  people  whose  friendship  —  and  love  — 
one  little  word  can  turn  to  scorn  ?  I  was  right, 
John  ;  I  ought  to  have  told  him.  Suppose  he  had 
married  me  and  then  had  found  it  out?  " 


/ 


182       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

To  Rena's  argument  of  divine  foreordination 
Warwick  attached  no  weight  whatever.  He  had 
seen  God's  heel  planted  for  four  long  years  upon 
the  land  which  had  nourished  slavery.  Had  God 
ordained  the  crime  that  the  punishment  might  fol- 
low ?  It  Avould  have  been  easier  for  Omnipotence 
to  prevent  the  crime.  The  experience  of  his  sister 
had  stirred  up  a  certain  bitterness  against  white 
people  —  a  feeling  which  he  had  put  aside  years  ago, 
with  his  dark  blood,  but  which  sprang  anew  into 
life  when  the  fact  of  his  own  origin  was  brought 
home  to  him  so  forcibly  through  his  sister's  misfor- 
tune. His  sworn  friend  and  promised  brother-in- 
law  had  thrown  him  over  promptly,  upon  the  discov- 
ery of  the  hidden  drop  of  dark  blood.  How  many 
others  of  his  friends  would  do  the  same,  if  they 
but  knew  of  it  ?  He  had  begim  to  feel  a  little  of 
the  spiritual  estrangement  from  his  associates  that 
he  had  noticed  in  Rena  during  her  life  at  Clarence. 
The  fact  that  several  persons  knew  his  secret  had 
spoiled  the  fine  flavor  of  perfect  security  hitherto 
marking  his  position.  George  Tryon  was  a  man  of 
honor  among  white  men,  and  had  deigned  to  extend 
the  protection  of  his  honor  to  Warwick  as  a  man, 
though  no  longer  as  a  friend ;  to  Rena  as  a  woman, 
but  not  as  a  wife.  Tryon,  however,  was  only  human, 
and  who  could  tell  when  their  paths  in  life  might 
cross  again,  or  what  future  temptation  Tryon  might 
feel  to  use  a  damaging  secret  to  their  disadvantage  ? 
Warwick  had  cherished  certain  ambitions,  but  these 
he  must  now  put  behind  him.     In  the  obscurity  of 


GOD  MADE  US  ALL  183 

private  life,  his  past  would  be  of  little  moment ;  in 
the  glare  of  a  political  career,  one's  antecedents  are 
public  property,  and  too  great  a  reserve  in  regard 
to  one's  past  is  regarded  as  a  confession  of  some- 
thing discreditable.  Frank,  too,  knew  the  secret 
—  a  good,  faithful  fellow,  even  where  there  was  no 
obligation  of  fidelity ;  he  ought  to  do  something  for 
Frank  to  show  their  ap^^reciation  of  liis  conduct. 
But  what  assurance  was  there  that  Frank  would 
always  be  discreet  about  the  affairs  of  others? 
Judge  Straight  knew  the  whole  story,  and  old  men 
are  sometimes  garrulous.  Dr.  Green  suspected  the 
secret ;  he  had  a  wife  and  daughters.  If  old  Judge 
Straight  could  have  known  Warwick's  thoughts,  he 
would  have  realized  the  fulfillment  of  his  prophecy. 
Warwick,  who  had  builded  so  well  for  liimseK,  had 
weakened  the  structure  of  his  own  life  by  trying  to 
share  his  good  fortune  with  his  sister, 

"  Listen,  Eena,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  impulse, 
"  we  'U  go  to  the  North  or  West  —  I  '11  go  with 
you  —  far  away  from  the  South  and  the  Southern 
people,  and  start  life  over  again.  It  wiU  be  easier 
for  you,  it  will  not  be  hard  for  me  —  I  am  young, 
and  have  means.  There  are  no  strong  ties  to  bind 
me  to  the  South.  I  would  have  a  larger  outlook 
elsewhere." 

"  And  what  about  our  mother  ?  "  asked  Rena. 

It  would  be  necessary  to  leave  her  behind,  they 
both  perceived  clearly  enough,  unless  they  were 
prepared  to  surrender  the  advantage  of  their  white- 
ness and  drop  back  to  the  lower  rank.     The  mother 


184      THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

bore  the  mark  of  the  Ethiopian  —  not  pronouncedly, 
but  distinctly ;  neither  would  Mis'  Molly,  in  all 
probability,  care  to  leave  home  and  friends  and  the 
graves  of  her  loved  ones.  She  had  no  mental 
resources  to  supj^ly  the  place  of  these  ;  she  was, 
moreover,  too  old  to  be  transplanted  ;  she  would 
not  fit  into  Warwick's  scheme  for  a  new  life. 

"  I  left  her  once,"  said  Rena,  "  and  it  brought 
pain  and  sorrow  to  all  three  of  us.  She  is  not 
strong,  and  I  will  not  leave  her  here  to  die  alone. 
This  shall  be  my  home  while  she  lives,  and  if  I 
leave  it  agaiu,  it  shall  be  for  only  a  short  time,  to 
go  where  I  can  write  to  her  freely,  and  hear  from 
her  often.  Don't  worry  about  me,  Jolm,  —  I  shall 
do  very  well." 

Warwick  sighed.  He  was  sincerely  sorry  to  leave 
his  sister,  and  yet  he  saw  that  for  the  time  being 
her  resolution  was  not  to  be  shaken.  He  must  bide 
his  time.  Perhaps,  in  a  few  months,  she  would  tire 
of  the  old  life.  His  door  would  be  always  open  to 
her,  and  he  would  charge  himself  with  her  future. 

"Well,  then,"  he  said,  concluding  the  argument, 
"  we  '11  say  no  more  about  it  for  the  present.  I  '11 
write  to  you  later.  I  was  afraid  that  you  might 
not  care  to  go  back  just  now,  and  so  I  brought 
your  trunk  along  with  me." 

He  gave  his  mother  the  baggage-check.  She 
took  it  across  to  Frank,  who,  during  the  day, 
brought  the  trunk  from  the  depot.  Mis'  Molly 
offered  to  pay  him  for  the  service,  but  he  would 
accept  nothing. 


GOD  MADE  US  ALL  185 

"  Lawcl,  no,  Mis'  Molly ;  I  did  n'  h after  go  out'n 
my  way  ter  git  dat  trunk.  I  had  a  load  er  sperrit- 
bairls  ter  haul  ter  de  still,  an'  de  depot  wuz  right 
on  my  way  back.  It  'd  be  robbin'  you  ter  take 
pay  fer  a  little  thing  lack  dat." 

"  My  son  John  's  here,"  said  Mis'  Molly  "  an' 
he  wants  to  see  you.  Come  into  the  settin'-room. 
We  don't  want  folks  to  know  he  's  in  town  ;  but 
you  know  all  our  secrets,  an'  we  can  trust  you  like 
one  er  the  family." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  again,  Frank,"  said  War- 
wick, extending  his  hand  and  clasping  Frank's 
warmly.  "  You  've  grown  up  since  I  saw  you  last, 
but  it  seems  you  are  still  oiu'  good  friend." 

"  Our  very  good  friend,"  interjected  Rena* 

Frank  threw  her  a  gi-ateful  glance.  "  Yas,  suh," 
he  said,  looking  Warwick  over  with  a  friendly  eye, 
"an'  you  is  gTowed  some,  too.  I  seed  you,  you 
know,  doAvn  dere  where  you  live ;  but  I  did  n'  let 
on,  fer  jon  an'  Mis'  Kena  wuz  w'ite  as  anybody  ; 
an'  eve'ybody  said  you  wuz  good  ter  cuUud  folks, 
an'  he'j^ed  'em  in  deir  lawsuits  an'  one  way  er 
'nuther,  an'  I  wuz  jes'  plum'  glad  ter  see  you  get- 
tin'  'long  so  fine,  dat  I  waiz,  certain  sho',  an'  no 
mistake  about  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Frank,  and  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand how  much  I  appreciate  "  — 

"  How  much  we  all  appreciate,"  corrected  Rena. 

"  Yes,  how  much  we  all  appreciate,  and  how 
gi^ateful  we  all  are  for  your  kindness  to  mother  for 
so  many  years.  I  know  from  her  and  from  my 
sister  how  good  you  've  been  to  them." 


186       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

"  Lawd,  suli !  "  returned  Frank  deprecatingiy, 
"  you  're  makin'  a  mountain  out'n  a  moleliill.  I 
ain't  done  nutliin'  ter  speak  of  —  not  half  ez  mucli 
ez  I  woukl  'a'  done.  I  wuz  glad  ter  do  w'at  little 
I  could,  fer  frien'sliip's  sake." 

"  We  value  your  friendship,  Frank,  and  we  'II 
not  forget  it." 

"  No,  Frank,"  added  Rena,  "  we  will  never  for- 
get it,  and  you  shall  always  be  our  good  friend." 

Frank  left  the  room  and  crossed  the  street  with 
sweUing  heart.  He  would  have  given  his  life  for 
Rena.  A  kind  word  was  doubly  sweet  from  her 
lips  ;  no  service  would  be  too  great  to  pay  for  her 
friendship. 

When  Frank  went  out  to  the  stable  next  morn- 
ing to  feed  his  mule,  his  eyes  opened  wide  with 
astonishment.  In  place  of  the  decrepit,  one-eyed 
army  mule  he  had  put  up  the  night  before,  a  fat, 
sleek  specimen  of  vigorous  mulehood  greeted  his 
arrival  with  the  sonorous  hehaw  of  lusty  youth. 
Hanging  on  a  peg  near  by  was  a  set  of  fine  new 
harness,  and  standing  under  the  adjoining  shed,  as 
he  perceived,  a  handsome  new  cart. 

*••  Well,  well!  "  exclaimed  Frank  ;  "  ef  I  didn' 
mos'  know  whar  dis  mule,  an'  dis  kyart,  an'  dis 
harness  come  from,  I  'd  'low  dere  'd  be'n  witchcraf ' 
er  cunjin'  wukkin'  here.  But,  oh  my,  dat  is  a 
fine  mule  !  — I  mos'  wush  I  could  keep  'im." 

He  crossed  the  road  to  the  house  behind  the 
cedars,  and   found   Mis'    Molly    in    the    kitchen. 


GOD  MADE   US  ALL  187 

"  Mis'  Molly,"  he  protested,  ''  I  ain't  clone  nuthin' 
ter  deserve  dat  mule.  Wat  little  I  done  fer  you 
wa'n't  done  fer  pay.  I  'd  ruther  not  keep  dem 
things." 

"  Fer  goodness'  sake,  Frank  !  "  exclaimed  his 
neighbor,  with  a  well-simulated  air  of  mystification, 
"  what  are  you  talkin'  about  ?  " 

"  You  knows  w'at  I  'm  talkin'  about.  Mis' 
Molly  ;  you  knows  well  ernuff  I  'm  talkin'  about 
dat  fine  mule  an'  kyart  an'  harness  over  dere  in 
my  stable." 

"  How  should  I  know  anything  about  'em  ?  " 
she  asked. 

«  Now,  Mis'  Molly  !  You  folks  is  jes'  tryin'  ter 
fool  me,  an'  make  me  take  somethin'  fer  nuthin'. 
I  lef  my  ole  nude  an'  kyart  an'  harness  in  de 
stable  las'  night,  an'  dis  mawnin'  dey  're  gone,  an' 
new  ones  in  deir  place.  Co'se  you  knows  whar 
dey  come  from  !  " 

"  Well,  now,  Frank,  sence  you  mention  it,  I  did 
see  a  witch  flyin'  roun'  here  las'  night  on  a  broom- 
stick, an'  it  'peared  ter  me  she  lit  on  yo'r  barn,  an' 
I  s'pose  she  turned  yo'r  old  things  into  nevv^  ones. 
I  would  n't  bother  my  mind  about  it  if  I  was  you, 
for  she  may  turn  'em  back  any  night,  you  know  ; 
an'  you  might  as  well  have  the  use  of  'em  in  the 
mean  while." 

"  Dat 's  all  foolishness,  Mis'  Molly,  an'  I  'm 
gwine  ter  fetch  dat  mule  right  over  here  an'  tell 
yo'  son  ter  gimme  my  ole  one  back." 

"  My   son  's  gone,"  she  replied,  "  an'  I  don't 


188       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

know  notliin'  about  yo'r  old  mule.  And  what 
would  I  do  with  a  mule,  anyhow  ?  I  ain't  got  no 
barn  to  put  him  in." 

"  I  suspect  you  don't  care  much  for  us  after 
all,  Frank,"  said  Ren  a  reproachfully  —  she  had 
come  in  while  they  were  talking.  "  You  meet 
with  a  piece  of  good  luck,  and  you  're  afraid  of  it, 
lest  it  might  have  come  from  us." 

"Now,  Miss  Rena,  you  oughtn't  ter  say  dat," 
expostulated  Frank,  his  reluctance  yielding  imme- 
diately. "  I  '11  keep  de  mule  an'  de  kyart  an'  de 
harness  —  fac',  I  '11  have  ter  keep  'em,  'cause  I 
ain't  got  no  others.  But  dey  're  gwine  ter  be  yo'n 
ez  much  ez  mine.  Wenever  you  wants  an}i;hing 
hauled,  er  wants  yo'  lot  ploughed,  er  anything  — 
dat 's  yo'  mule,  an'  I  'm  yo'  man  an'  yo'  mammy's." 

So  Frank  went  back  to  the  stable,  where  he 
feasted  his  eyes  on  his  new  possessions,  fed  and 
watered  the  mule,  and  curried  and  brushed  his 
coat  until  it  shone  like  a  looking-glass. 

"  Now  dat,"  remarked  Peter,  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  when  informed  of  the  transaction,  "  is  some- 
thin'  lack  rale  w'ite  folks." 

No  real  white  person  had  ever  given  Peter  a 
mule  or  a  cart.  He  had  rendered  one  of  them 
unpaid  service  for  half  a  lifetime,  and  had  paid  for 
the  other  half ;  and  some  of  them  owed  him  sub- 
stantial sums  for  work  performed.  But  "  to  him 
that  hath  shall  be  given  " —  Warwick  paid  for  the 
mule,  and  the  real  white  folks  got  most  of  the 
credit. 


XX 

DIGGING  UP  ROOTS 

When  tlie  first  great  shock  of  his  discovery  wore 
off,  the  fact  of  Rena's  origin  lost  to  Tryon  some  of 
its  initial  repugnance  —  indeed,  the  repugnance  was 
not  to  the  woman  at  all,  as  their  past  relations  were 
evidence,  but  merely  to  the  thought  of  her  as  a  wife. 
It  could  hardly  have  failed  to  occur  to  so  reason- 
able a  man  as  Tryon  that  Rena's  case  could  scarcely 
be  unique.  Surely  in  the  past  centuries  of  free 
manners  and  easy  morals  that  had  prevailed  in 
remote  parts  of  the  South,  there  must  have  been 
many  white  persons  whose  origin  would  not  have 
borne  too  microscopic  an  investigation.  Family 
trees  not  seldom  have  a  crooked  branch ;  or,  to  use 
a  more  apposite  figure,  many  a  flock  has  its  black 
sheep.  Being  a  man  of  lively  imagination,  Tryon 
soon  found  himself  putting  all  sorts  of  hypothet- 
ical questions  about  a  matter  which  he  had  already 
definitely  determined.  If  he  had  married  Rena  in 
ignorance  of  her  se(;ret,  and  had  learned  it  after- 
wards, would  he  have  put  her  aside  ?  If,  knowing 
her  history,  he  had  nevertheless  married  her,  and 
she  had  subsequently  displayed  some  trait  of  char- 
acter that  would  suggest  the  negro,  could  he  have 


190       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

forgotten  or  forgiven  the  taint?  Could  he  still 
have  held  her  in  love  and  honor?  If  not,  could 
he  have  given  her  the  outward  seeming  of  affection, 
or  could  he  have  been  more  than  coldly  tolerant  ? 
He  was  glad  that  he  had  been  spared  this  ordeal. 
With  an  effort  he  put  the  whole  matter  definitely 
and  conclusively  aside,  as  he  had  done  a  hundred 
times  already. 

Returning  to  his  home,  after  an  absence  of  sev- 
eral months  in  South  Carolina,  it  was  quite  ap- 
parent to  his  mother's  watchful  eye  that  he  was  in 
serious  trouble.  He  was  absent-minded,  monosyl- 
labic, sighed  deeply  and  often,  and  could  not  always 
conceal  the  traces  of  secret  tears.  For  Tryon  was 
young,  and  possessed  of  a  sensitive  soul  —  a  source 
of  happiness  or  misery,  as  the  Fates  decree.  To 
those  thus  dowered,  the  heights  of  rapture  are 
accessible,  the  abysses  of  despair  yawn  threaten- 
ingly ;  only  the'  dull  monotony  of  contentment  is 
denied. 

Mrs.  Tryon  vainly  sought  by  every  gentle  art 
a  woman  knows  to  win  her  son's  confidence. 
"What  is  the  matter,  George,  dear?"  she  would 
ask,  stroking  his  hot  brow  with  her  small,  cool 
hand  as  he  sat  moodily  nursing  his  grief.  ''  Tell 
your  mother,  George.  Who  else  could  comfort 
you  so  well  as  she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  's  nothing,  mother,  —  nothing  at  all," 
he  w  ould  reply,  with  a  forced  attempt  at  lightness. 
"  It 's  only  your  fond  imagination,  you  best  of 
mothers." 


DIGGING  UP  ROOTS  191 

It  was  Mrs.  Tryon's  turn  to  sigh  and  shed 
a  clandestme  tear.  Until  her  son  had  gone  away 
on  this  trip  to  South  Carolina,  he  had  kept  no 
secrets  from  her  :  his  heart  had  been  an  ojjen 
book,  of  which  she  knew  every  page  ;  now,  some 
painful  story  was  inscribed  therein  which  he  meant 
she  should  not  read.  If  she  could  have  abdicated 
her  empire  to  Blanche  Leary  or  have  shared  it 
with  her,  she  would  have  yielded  gracef uUy  ;  but 
very  palpably  some  other  influence  than  Blanche's 
had  driven  joy  from  her  son's  countenance  and 
lightness  from  his  heart. 

Miss  Blanche  Leary,  whom  Tryon  found  in  the 
house  upon  his  return,  was  a  demure,  pretty  little 
blonde,  with  an  amiable  disposition,  a  talent  for 
society,  and  a  pronounced  fondness  for  George 
Tryon.  A  poor  girl,  of  an  excellent  family  im- 
poverished by  the  war,  she  was  distantly  related 
to  Mrs.  Tryon,  had  for  a  long  time  enjoyed  tliat 
lady's  favor,  and  was  her  choice  for  George's  wife 
when  he  should  be  old  enough  to  marry.  A  woman 
less  interested  than  Miss  Leary  would  have  per- 
ceived that  there  was  something  wrong  with  Tryon. 
Miss  Leary  had  no  doubt  that  there  was  a  woman 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  —  for  about  what  else  should 
youth  worry  but  love  ?  or  if  one's  love  affairs  run 
smootHy,  why  should  one  worry  about  anything 
at  all  ?  Miss  Leary,  in  the  nineteen  years  of  her 
mundane  existence,  had  not  been  without  mild  ex- 
periences of  the  heart,  and  had  hovered  for  some 


192       THE   HOUSE   BEHII^D   THE   CEDARS. 

time  on  the  verge  of  disappointment  with  respect 
to  Tryon  himself.  A  sensitive  pride  would  have 
driven  more  than  one  woman  away  at  the  sight  of 
the  man  of  her  preference  sighing  like  a  furnace 
for  some  absent  fair  one.  But  Mrs.  Tryon  was 
so  cordial,  and  insisted  so  strenuously  upon  her 
remaining,  that  Blanche's  love,  which  was  strong, 
conquered  her  pride,  which  was  no  more  than  a  rea- 
sonable young  woman  ought  to  have  who  sets  suc- 
cess above  mere  sentiment.  She  remained  in  the 
house  and  bided  her  opportunity.  If  George  prac- 
tically ignored  her  for  a  time,  she  did  not  throw 
herself  at  all  in  his  way.  She  went  on  a  visit  to 
some  girls  in  the  neighborhood  and  remained  away 
a  week,  hoping  that  she  might  be  missed.  Tryon 
expressed  no  regret  at  her  departure  and  no  par- 
ticular satisfaction  upon  her  return.  If  the  house 
was  duller  in  her  absence,  he  was  but  dimly  con- 
scious of  the  difference.  He  was  still  fighting  a 
battle  in  which  a  susceptible  heart  and  a  reason- 
able mind  had  locked  horns  in  a  well-nigh  hopeless 
conflict.  Reason,  common-sense,  the  instinctive 
ready-made  judgments  of  his  training  and  environ- 
ment, —  the  deep-seated  prejudices  of  race  and 
caste,  —  commanded  him  to  dismiss  Rena  from 
his  thoughts.  His  stubborn  heart  simply  would 
not  let  go. 


XXI 

A   GILDED    OPPORTUNITY 

Although  the  whole  fabric  of  Rena's  new  life 
toppled  and  fell  with  her  lover's  defection,  her  sym- 
pathies, broadened  by  culture  and  still  more  by 
her  recent  emotional  experience,  did  not  shrink,  as 
would  have  been  the  case  with  a  more  selfish  soul, 
to  the  mere  limits  of  her  personal  sorrow,  great  as 
this  seemed  at  the  moment.  She  had  learned  to 
love,  and  when  the  love  of  one  man  failed  her,  she 
turned  to  humanity,  as  a  stream  obstructed  in  its 
course  overflows  the  adjacent  country.  Her  early 
trainino;  had  not  directed  her  thouohts  to  the  darker 
people  with  whose  fate  her  own  was  bound  up  so 
closely,  but  rather  away  from  them.  She  had  been 
taught  to  despise  them  because  they  were  not  so 
white  as  she  was,  and  had  been  slaves  while  she  was 
free.  Her  life  in  her  brother's  home,  by  removing 
her  from  immediate  contact  mth  them,  had  given 
her  &,  different  point  of  view,  —  one  which  empha- 
sized their  shortcomings,  and  thereby  made  vastly 
clearer  to  her  the  gulf  that  separated  them  from 
the  new  world  in  which  she  lived  ;  so  that  when 
misfortune  threw  her  back  upon  them,  the  reaction 
brought  her  nearer  than  before.  Where  once  she 
had  seemed  able  to  escape  from  them,  they  were 


194       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

now,  it  appeared,  lier  inalienable  race.  Thus  doubly 
equipped,  slie  was  able  to  view  them  at  once  with 
the  mental  eye  of  an  outsider  and  the  sympathy 
of  a  sister :  she  could  see  their  faults,  and  judge 
them  charitably ;  she  knew  and  appreciated  their 
good  qualities.  With  her  quickened  intelligence 
she  could  perceive  how  great  was  their  need  and 
how  small  their  opportunity  ;  and  with  this  illumi- 
nation came  the  desire  to  contribute  to  their  help. 
She  had  not  the  breadth  or  culture  to  see  in  all  its 
ramifications  the  great  problem  which  still  puzzles 
statesmen  and  philosophers  ;  but  she  was  conscious 
of  the  wish,  and  of  the  power,  in  a  small  way,  to  do 
something  for  the  advancement  of  those  who  had 
just  set  their  feet  upon  the  ladder  of  progress. 

This  new-born  desire  to  be  of  service  to  her  re- 
discovered people  was  not  long  without  an  oppor- 
tunity for  exj^ression.  Yet  the  Fates  willed  that 
her  future  should  be  but  another  link  in  a  con- 
nected chain :  she  was  to  be  as  powerless  to  put 
aside  her  recent  past  as  she  had  been  to  escape 
from  the  influence  of  her  earlier  life.  There  are 
sordid  souls  that  eat  and  drink  and  breed  and  die, 
and  imagine  they  have  lived.  But  Rena's  life 
since  her  great  awakening  had  been  that  of  the 
emotions,  and  her  temperament  made  of  it  a  con- 
tinuous Hfe.  Her  successive  states  of  conscious- 
ness were  not  detachable,  but  united  to  form  a 
single  if  not  an  entirely  harmonious  whole.  To 
her  sensitive  spirit  to-day  was  born  of  yesterday, 
to-morrow  would  be  but  the  offspring  of  to-day. 


A  GILDED  OPPORTUNITY  195 

One  day,  along  toward  noon,  her  mother  re- 
ceived a  visit  from  Mary  B.  Pettifoot,  a  second 
cousin,  who  lived  on  Back  Street,  only  a  short 
distance  from  the  house  behind  the  cedars.  Rena 
had  gone  out,  so  that  the  visitor  found  Mis'  Molly 
alone. 

"I  heared  you  say.  Cousin  Molly,"  said  Mary 
B.  (no  one  ever  knew  what  the  B.  in  Mary's  name 
stood  for,  —  it  was  a  mere  ornamental  flourish), 
"  that  Rena  was  talkin'  'bout  teachin'  school.  I  've 
got  a  good  chance  fer  her,  ef  she  keers  ter  take 
it.  My  cousin  Jeff  Wain  'rived  in  town  this 
mo'nin',  f'm  'way  down  in  Sampson  County,  ter 
git  a  teacher  fer  the  nigger  school  in  his  deestric'. 
I  s'pose  he  mought  'a'  got  one  f'm  'roun'  Newbern, 
er  Goldsboro,  er  some  er  them  places  eas',  but  he 
'lowed  he  'd  like  to  visit  some  er  his  kin  an'  ole 
frien's,  an'  so  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone." 

"  I  seed  a  strange  mulatter  man,  with  a  bay  hoss 
an'  a  new  buggy,  dri\an'  by  here  this  mo'nin'  early, 
from  down  to'ds  the  river,"  rejoined  Mis'  Molly. 
"  I  wonder  if  that  wuz  him  ?  " 

Did  he  have  on  a  linen  duster  ?  "  asked  Mary  B. 
Yas,  an'  'peared  to  be  a  very  well  sot  up  man," 
replied  Mis'  Molly,  ''  'bout  thirty-five  years  old,  I 
should  reckon." 

"  That  wuz  him,"  assented  Mary  B.  "  He 's  got 
a  fine  hoss  an'  buggy,  an'  a  goF  watch  an'  chain, 
an'  a  big  plantation,  an'  lots  er  bosses  an'  mules 
an'  cows  an'  hawgs.  He  raise'  fifty  bales  er  cotton 
las'  year,  an'  he  's  be'n  ter  the  legislatur'." 


19G       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

"  My  gracious  !  "  exclaimed  Mis'  Molly,  struck 
with  awe  at  this  catalogue  of  the  stranger's  posses- 
sions —  he  was  evidently  worth  more  than  a  great 
many  "  rich  "  white  people,  —  all  white  people  in 
North  Carolina  in  those  days  were  either  "  rich  "  or 
"  poor,"  the  distinction  being  one  of  caste  rather 
than  of  wealth.  "Is  he  married?"  she  inquired 
with  interest? 

"  No,  —  single.  You  mought  'low  it  was  quare 
that  he  should  n'  be  married  at  his  age  ;  but  he 
was  crossed  in  love  oncet," — Mary  B.  heaved  a 
self-conscious  sigh,  —  "an'  has  stayed  single  ever 
sence.  That  wuz  ten  years  ago,  but  as  some 
husban's  is  long-lived,  an'  there  ain'  no  mo'  chance 
fer  'im  now  than  there  wuz  then,  I  reckon  some 
nice  gal  mought  stan'  a  good  show  er  ketchin'  'im, 
ef  she  'd  play  her  kyards  right." 

To  Mis'  Molly  this  was  news  of  considerable 
importance.  She  had  not  thought  a  great  deal  of 
Rena's  plan  to  teach ;  she  considered  it  lowering 
for  Rena,  after  having  been  white,  to  go  among 
the  negroes  any  more  than  was  unavoidable.  This 
opportunity,  however,  meant  more  than  mere  em- 
ployment for  her  daughter.  She  had  felt  Rena's 
disappointment  keenh",  fi'om  the  practical  jjoint  of 
view,  and,  blaming  herself  for  it,  held  herself  all 
the  more  bound  to  retrieve  the  misfortune  in  any 
possible  way.  If  she  had  not  been  sick, .  Rena 
would  not  have  dreamed  the  fateful  dream  that 
had  brought  her  to  Patesville  ;  for  the  connection 
between  the  vision  and  the  reality  was  even  closer  in 


A  GILDED  OPPORTUNITY  197 

Mis'  Molly's  eyes  than  in  Rena's.  If  the  mother 
had  not  sent  the  letter  announcing  her  iUness  and 
confirming'  the  dream,  Rena  would  not  have  ruined 
her  promising  future  by  coming  to  Patesville.  But 
the  harm  had  been  done,  and  she  was  responsible, 
ignorantly  of  course,  but  none  the  less  truly,  and 
it  only  remained  for  her  to  make  amends,  as  far  as 
possible.  Her  highest  ambition,  since  Rena  had 
gro^vn  up,  had  been  to  see  her  married  and  com- 
fortably settled  in  life.  She  had  no  hope  that 
Tryon  would  come  back.  Rena  had  declared  that 
she  would  make  no  further  effort  to  get  away  from 
her  people  ;  and,  furthermore,  that  she  would  never 
marry.  To  this  latter  statement  Mis'  Molly  secretly 
attached  but  little  importance.  That  a  woman 
should  go  single  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  did 
not  accord  with  her  experience  in  hf  e  of  the  customs 
of  North  Carolina.  She  respected  a  grief  she  coidd 
not  entirely  fathom,  yet  did  not  for  a  moment 
believe  that  Rena  would  remain  unmarried. 

"You'd  better  fetch  him  roun'  to  see  me,  Ma'y 
B.,"  she  said,  "  an'  let  's  see  what  he  looks  hke. 
I  'm  pertic'lar  'bout  my  gal.  She  says  she  ain't 
goin'  to  marry  nobody  ;  but  of  co'se  we  know  that 's 
all  foolislmess." 

"  I  'U  fetch  him  roun'  this  evenin'  'bout  three 
o'clock,"  said  the  visitor,  rising.  "  I  mus'  hurry 
back  now  an'  keep  him  comp'ny.  Tell  Rena  ter 
put  on  her  bes'  bib  an'  tucker ;  for  Mr.  Wain  is 
pertic'lar  too,  an'  I  've  already  be'n  braggin'  'bout 
her  looks." 


198       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

When  Mary  B.,  at  the  appointed  hour,  knocked 
at  Mis'  Molly's  front  door,  —  the  visit  being  one  of 
ceremony,  she  had  taken  her  cousin  round  to  the 
Front  Street  entrance  and  through  the  flower 
garden^  —  Mis'  Molly  was  prepared  to  receive  them. 
After  a  decent  interval,  long  enough  to  suggest 
that  she  had  not  been  watching  their  approach  and 
was  not  over-eager  about  the  visit,  she  answered 
the  knock  and  admitted  them  into  the  parlor.  Mr. 
Wain  was  formally  introduced,  and  seated  himself 
on  the  ancient  haircloth  sofa,  under  the  framed 
fashion-plate,  while  Mary  B.  sat  by  the  open  door 
and  fanned  herself  with  a  palm-leaf  fan. 

Mis'  Molly's  impression  of  Wain  was  favorable. 
His  complexion  was  of  a  light  browTi  —  not  quite 
so  fair  as  Mis'  Molly  would  have  preferred;  but 
any  deficiency  in  this  regard,  or  in  the  matter  of 
the  stranger's  features,  which,  while  not  unpleas- 
ing,  leaned  toward  the  broad  mulatto  type,  was 
more  than  compensated  in  her  eyes  by  very 
straight  black  hair,  and,  as  soon  appeared,  a  great 
facility  of  complimentary  speech.  On  his  introduc- 
tion Mr.  Wain  bowed  low,  assumed  an  air  of  great 
admiration,  and  expressed  his  extreme  delight  in 
making  the  acquaintance  of  so  distingaiished-look- 
ing  a  lady. 

"You're  flatt'rin'  me, Mr.  Wain,"  returned  Mis' 
Molly,  with  a  gratified  smile.  "  But  you  want  to 
meet  my  daughter  befo'  you  commence  th'owin' 
bokays.  Excuse  my  leavin'  you  —  I  '11  go  an'  fetch 
her." 


A  GILDED   OPPORTUNITY  199 

She  returned  in  a  moment,  foUowed  by  Rena. 
"  Mr.  Wain,  'low  me  to  int'oduce  you  to  my  daugh- 
ter Rena.  Rena,  this  is  Ma'y  B.'s  cousin  on  her 
pappy's  side,  who  's  come  up  from  Samj^son  to  git 
a  school-teacher." 

Rena  bowed  gracefully.  Wain  stared  a  moment 
in  genuine  astonishment,  and  then  bent  himself 
nearly  double,  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  meanwhile 
upon  Rena's  face.  He  had  expected  to  see  a  pretty 
yellow  girl,  but  had  been  jDrepared  for  no  such 
radiant  \dsion  of  beauty  as  this  which  now  con- 
fronted him. 

"  Does  —  does  you  mean  ter  say,  Mis'  Walden, 
dat  —  dat  dis  young  lady  is  yo'  own  daughter?" 
he  stammered,  rallying  his  forces  for  action. 

"Why  not,  Mr.  Wain?"  asked  Mis'  MoUy, 
bridling  with  mock  resentment.  "  Do  you  mean 
ter  'low  that  she  \y\\z  changed  in  her  cradle,  er  is 
she  too  good-lookin'  to  be  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  My  deah  Mis'  Walden  !  it  'ud  be  wastin'  wo'ds 
fer  me  ter  say  dat  dey  ain'  no  young  lady  too  good- 
lookin'  ter  be  yo'  daughter ;  but  you  're  lookin' 
so  young  yo'sef  dat  I  'd  ruther  take  her  fer  yo' 
sister." 

"  Yas,"  rejoined  Mis'  Molly,  with  animation, 
"  they  ain't  many  years  between  us.  I  wuz  ruther 
young  myself  when  she  wuz  bo'n." 

"An',  mo'over,"  Wain  went  on,  "it  takes  me 
a  minute  er  so  ter  git  my  min'  use'  ter  thinkin'  er 
Mis'  Rena  as  a  cullud  youns^  lady.  I  mouoht  'a' 
seed  her  a  hundred  times,  an'  I  'd  *a'  never  dreamt 


200       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

but  w'at  she  wuz  a  w'ite  young  lady,  f 'm  one  er  de 
bes'  families." 

"Yas,  Mr.  AVain,"  replied  Mis'  Molly  com- 
placently, "  all  three  er  my  child'en  wuz  white,  an' 
one  of  'em  has  be'n  on  the  other  side  fer  many 
long  years.  Rena  has  be'n  to  school,  an'  has 
traveled,  an'  has  had  chances  —  better  chances  than 
anybody  roun'  here  knows." 

"  She 's  jes'  de  lady  I  'm  lookin'  fer,  ter  teach  ou' 
school,"  rejoined  Wain,  with  emphasis.  "  Wid 
her  schoolin'  an'  my  riccommen',  she  kin  git  a  fus'- 
class  ce'tifikit  an'  draw  fo'ty  dollars  a  month ;  an' 
a  lady  er  her  color  kin  keep  a  lot  er  little  niggers 
straighter  'n  a  darker  lady  could.  We  jus'  got  ter 
have  her  ter  teach  ou'  school  —  ef  we  kin  git  her." 

Rena's  interest  in  the  prospect  of  employment 
at  her  chosen  work  was  so  great  that  she  paid  little 
attention  to  Wain's  compliments.  Mis'  Molly  led 
Mary  B.  away  to  the  kitchen  on  some  pretext,  and 
left  Rena  to  entertain  the  gentleman.  She  ques- 
tioned him  eagerly  about  the  school,  and  he  gave 
the  most  glowing  accounts  of  the  elegant  school- 
house,  the  bright  pupils,  and  the  congenial  society 
of  the  neighborhood.  He  spoke  almost  entirely  in 
superlatives,  and,  after  making  due  allowance  for 
what  Rena  perceived  to  be  a  temperamental  tend- 
ency to  exaggeration,  she  concluded  that  she  would 
find  in  the  school  a  worthy  field  of  usefulness,  and 
in  this  polite  and  good-natured  though  somewhat 
wordy  man  a  coadjutor  upon  whom  she  could  rely 
in  her  first  efforts :  for  she  was  not  over-confident 


A  GILDED   OPPORTUNITY  201 

of  lier  powers,  which  seemed  to  grow  less  as  the 
way  oj)ened  for  their  exercise. 

"  Do  you  think  I  'm  competent  to  teach  the 
school  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  visitor,  after  stating 
some  of  her  qualifications. 

"  Oh,  dere  's  no  doubt  about  it,  Miss  Rena,"  re- 
pKed  Wain,  who  had  listened  with  an  air  of  great 
wisdom,  though  secretly  aware  that  he  was  too 
ignorant  of  letters  to  form  a  judgment ;  "  you  kin 
teach  de  school  all  right,  an'  could  ef  you  didn't 
know  half  ez  much.  You  w^on't  have  no  trouble 
managin'  de  child'en,  nuther.  Ef  any  of  'em  gits 
onruly,  jes'  call  on  me  fer  he'p,  an'  I  '11  make  'em 
walk  Spanish.  I  'm  chuhman  er  de  school  com- 
mittee, an'  I  '11  lam  de  hide  off'n  any  scholar  dat 
don'  behave.  You  kin  trus'  me  fer  dat,  sho'  ez 
I  'm  a-settin'  here." 

"  Then,"  said  Rena,  "  I  '11  undertake  it,  and  do 
my  best.     I  'm  sure  you  '11  not  be  too  exacting." 

"  Yo'  bes'.  Miss  Rena,  '11  be  de  bes'  dey  is. 
Don'  you  worry  ner  fret.  Dem  niggers  w^on't 
have  no  other  teacher  after  dey  've  once  laid  eyes 
on  you  :  I  '11  guarantee  dat.  Dere  won't  be  no 
trouble,  not  a  bit." 

"  Well,  Cousin  MoUy,"  said  Mary  B.  to  Mis' 
Molly  in  the  kitchen,  "  how  does  the  plan  strike 
you  ?  " 

"  Ef  Rena 's  satisfied,  I  am,"  replied  Mis'  Molly. 
"  But  you  'd  better  say  nothin'  about  ketchin'  a 
beau,  or  any  such  foolishness,  er  else  she  'd  be  just 
as  likely  not  to  go  nigh  Sampson  County." 


202       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

"  Befo'  Cousin  Jeff  goes  back,"  confided  Mary 
B.,  "  I  'd  like  ter  give  'iin  a  party,  but  my  bouse 
is  too  small.  I  wuz  wonderin',''  she  added  tenta- 
tively, "  ef  I  could  n'  borry  yo'  house." 

"  Shorely,  Ma'y  B.  I  'm  int'rested  in  Mr. 
Wain  on  Rena's  account,  an'  it 's  as  little  as  I  kin 
do  to  let  you  use  my  house  an'  help  you  git  things 
ready." 

The  date  of  the  party  was  set  for  Thursday 
night,  as  Wain  was  to  leave  Patesville  on  Friday 
morning,  taking  with  him  the  new  teacher.  The 
party  would  serve  the  double  purpose  of  a  compli- 
ment to  the  guest  and  a  farewell  to  Rena,  and  it 
might  prove  the  precursor,  the  mother  secretly 
hoped,  of  other  festivities  to  follow  at  some  later 
date. 


XXII 

IMPEEATIVE   BUSINESS 

One  Wednesday  morning,  about  six  weeks  after 
his  return  home,  Tryon  received  a  letter  from 
Judo'e  Straio'ht  with  reference  to  the  note  left 
with  liim  at  Pates vi lie  for  collection.  This  com- 
munication j)roperly  required  an  answer,  which 
mio'ht  have  been  made  in  wi'itino;  within  the  com- 
pass  of  ten  lines.  No  sooner,  however,  had  Tryon 
read  the  letter  than  he  began  to  perceive  reasons 
why  it  should  be  answered  in  person.  He  had 
left  PatesviUe  under  extremely  painful  circum- 
stances, vowing  that  he  would  never  return  ;  and 
yet  now  the  barest  pretext,  by  which  no  one  could 
have  been  deceived  except  willingly,  was  sufficient 
to  turn  his  footsteps  thither  again.  He  explained 
to  his  mother  —  with  a  vagueness  which  she  found 
somewhat  puzzling,  but  ascribed  to  her  own  femi- 
nine obtuseness  in  matters  of  business  —  the  rea- 
sons that  imperatively  demanded  his  presence  in. 
PatesviUe,  With  an  early  start  he  could  drive 
there  in  one  day,  —  he  had  an  excellent  roadster, 
a  light  buggy,  and  a  recent  rain  had  left  the  road 
ill  good  condition,  —  a  day  would  suffice  for  the 
transaction   of   his  business,   and   the   third   day 


204       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

would  bring  liim  home  again.  He  set  out  on 
Lis  journey  on  Thursday  morning,  with  this  pro- 
gramme very  clearly  outlined. 

Tryon  would  not  at  first  have  admitted  even  to 
himself  that  Rena's  presence  in  Pates ville  had  any 
bearing  whatever  upon  his  projected  visit.  The 
matter  about  which  Judge  Straight  had  written 
might,  it  was  clear,  be  viewed  in  several  aspects. 
The  judge  had  written  him  concerning  the  one  of 
unmediate  importance.  It  would  be  much  easier 
to  discuss  the  subject  in  all  its  bearings,  and  clean 
up  the  whole  matter,  in  one  comprehensive  per- 
sonal interview. 

The  importance  of  this  business,  then,  seemed 
very  urgent  for  the  first  few  hours  of  Tryon' s 
journey.  Ordinarily  a  careful  driver  and  merci- 
ful to  his  beast,  his  eagerness  to  reach  Pates  ville 
increased  gradually  until  it  became  necessary  to 
exercise  some  self-restraint  in  order  not  to  urge 
his  faithful  mare  beyond  her  powers ;  and  soon  he 
could  no  longer  pretend  obli^dousness  of  the  fact 
that  some  attraction  stronger  than  the  whole 
amount  of  Duncan  McSwayne's  note  was  urging 
him  irresistibly  toward  his  destination.  The  old 
town  beyond  the  distant  river,  his  heart  told  him 
clamorously,  held  the  object  in  all  the  world  to 
him  most  dear.  Memory  brought  up  in  ^dvid  de- 
tail every  moment  of  his  brief  and  joyous  court- 
ship, —  each  tender  word,  each  enchanting  smile, 
every  fond  caress.  He  lived  his  past  happiness 
over  again  down  to  the  moment  of  that  fatal  dis- 


IMPERATIVE  BUSINESS  205 

coYerj.  What  liorrible  fate  was  it  that  had  in- 
volved him  —  nay,  that  had  caught  this  sweet 
delicate  girl  in  such  a  blind  alley  ?  A  wild  hope 
flashed  across  his  mind :  perhajos  the  ghastly  story 
might  not  be  true ;  perhaps,  after  all,  the  girl  was 
no  more  a  nesTo  than  she  seemed.  He  had  heard 
sad  stories  of  white  children,  born  out  of  wedlock, 
abandoned  by  sinful  parents  to  the  care  or  adop- 
tion of  colored  women,  who  had  reared  them  as 
their  o\\ti,  the  children's  future  basely  sacrificed  to 
hide  the  parents'  shame.  He  would  confront  this 
reputed  mother  of  his  darling  and  wring  the  truth 
from  her.  He  was  in  a  state  of  mind  where  any 
sort  of  a  fairy  tale  would  have  seemed  reasonable. 
He  would  almost  have  bribed  some  one  to  tell  him 
that  the  woman  he  had  loved,  the  woman  he  still 
loved  (he  felt  a  thrill  of  lawless  pleasure  in  the 
confession),  was  not  the  descendant  of  slaves, — 
that  he  might  marry  her,  and  not  have  before  his 
eyes  the  gruesome  fear  that  some  one  of  their 
children  might  show  even  the  famtest  mark  of  the 
despised  race. 

At  noon  he  halted  at  a  convenient  hamlet,  fed 
and  watered  his  mare,  and  resumed  liis  journey 
after  an  hour's  rest.  By  this  time  he  had  well- 
nigh  forgotten  about  the  legal  business  that  formed 
the  ostensible  occasion  for  his  journey,  and  was 
conscious  only  of  a  wild  desire  to  see  the  woman 
whose  image  was  beckoning  him  on  to  Patesville 
as  fast  as  his  horse  could  take  him. 

At  sundo^\^l  he  stopped  again,  about  ten  miles 


206       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

from  the  town,  and  cared  for  his  now  tired  beast. 
He  knew  her  capacity,  however,  and  calculated 
that  she  could  stand  the  additional  ten  miles  with- 
out injury.  The  mare  set  out  with  reluctance, 
but  soon  settled  resignedly  down  into  a  steady  jog. 
Memory  had  hitherto  assailed  Tryon  with  the 
■\dsion  of  past  joj^s.  As  he  neared  the  town, 
imagination  attacked  him  with  still  more  moving 
images.  He  had  left  her,  this  sweet  flower  of 
womankind  —  white  or  not,  God  had  never  made 
a  fairer  !  —  he  had  seen  her  fall  to  the  hard  pave- 
ment, "with  he  knew  not  what  resulting  injury. 
He  had  left  her  tender  frame  —  the  touch  of  her 
finger-tips  had  made  him  thrill  with  happiness  — 
to  be  lifted  by  strange  hands,  while  he  w4th  heart- 
less pride  had  driven  deliberately  away,  without  a 
word  of  sorrow  or  regret.  He  had  ignored  her  as 
completely  as  though  she  had  never  existed.  That 
he  had  been  deceived  was  true.  But  had  he  not 
aided  in  his  own  deception  ?  Had  not  Warwick 
told  him  distinctly  that  they  were  of  no  family, 
and  was  it  not  his  own  fault  that  he  had  not  fol- 
lowed up  the  clue  thus  given  him  ?  Had  not  Rena 
compared  herself  to  the  child's  nurse,  and  had 
he  not  assured  her  that  if  she  were  the  nurse,  he 
would  marry  her  next  day?  The  deception  had 
been  due  more  to  his  own  blindness  than  to  any 
lack  of  honesty  on  the  part  of  Rena  and  her 
brother.  In  the  light  of  his  present  feelings  they 
seemed  to  have  been  absurdly  outsj^oken.  He 
was  glad  that  he  had  kept  his  discovery  to  him- 


IMPERATIVE  BUSINESS  207 

self.  He  had  considered  liimseK  very  magnani- 
mous not  to  have  exposed  the  fraud  that  was 
being  perpetrated  upon  society :  it  was  mth  a  very 
comfortable  feeling  that  he  now  realized  that  the 
matter  was  as  profound  a  secret  as  before. 

"  She  ought  to  have  been  born  white,"  he  mut- 
tered, adding  weakly,  "  I  would  to  God  that  I  had 
never  found  her  out !  " 

Drawing  near  the  bridge  that  crossed  the  river 
to  the  town,  he  pictured  to  himseK  a  pale  girl, 
with  sorrowful,  tear-stained  eyes,  pining  away  in 
the  old  gray  house  behind  the  cedars  for  love  of 
him,  dying,  perhaps,  of  a  broken  heart.  He  would 
hasten  to  her  ;  he  woidd  dry  her  tears  with  kisses ; 
he  would  express  sorrow  for  his  cruelty. 

The  tired  mare  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  was 
slowly  toiling  up  Front  Street ;  she  was  near  the 
limit  of  her  endurance,  and  Tryon  did  not  urge 
her. 

They  might  talk  the  matter  over,  and  if  they 
must  part,  part  at  least  they  would  in  peace  and 
friendship.  If  he  could  not  marry  her,  he  would 
never  marry  any  one  else ;  it  would  be  cruel  for 
him  to  seek  happiness  while  she  was  denied  it, 
for,  having  once  given  her  heart  to  him,  she  could 
never,  he  was  sure,  —  so  instinctively  fine  was 
her  nature,  —  she  could  never  love  any  one  less 
worthy  than  himself,  and  would  therefore  j^robably 
never  marry.  He  knew  from  a  Clarence  acquaint- 
ance, who  had  ^\Titten  him  a  letter,  that  Kena  had 
not  reappeared  in  that  town. 


208       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

If  lie  should  discover  —  the  chance  was  one  in 
a  thousand  —  that  she  was  white ;  or  if  he  should 
find  it  too  hard  to  leave  her  —  ah,  well  !  he  was  a 
white  man,  one  of  a  race  born  to  command.  He 
would  make  her  white :  no  one  beyond  the  old 
town  would  ever  know  the  difference.  If,  perchance, 
their  secret  should  be  disclosed,  the  world  was 
wide  ;  a  man  of  courage  and  ambition,  inspired  by 
love,  might  make  a  career  anywhere.  Circum- 
stances made  weak  men  ;  strong  men  mould  cir- 
cumstances to  do  their  bidding.  He  would  not 
let  his  darling  die  of  grief,  whatever  the  price 
must  be  j^aid  for  her  salvation.  She  was  only  a 
few  rods  away  from  hun  now.  In  a  moment  he 
woidd  see  her ;  he  would  take  her  tenderly  in  his 
arms,  and  heart  to  heart  they  would  mutually  for- 
give and  forget,  and,  strengthened  by  their  love, 
would  face  the  future  boldly  and  bid  the  world  do 
its  worst. 


XXTII 

THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR 

The  evening  of  the  party  arrived.  The  house 
had  been  thoroughly  cleaned  in  ^preparation  for  the 
event,  and  decorated  with  the  choicest  treasures  of 
the  garden.  By  eight  o'clock  the  guests  had  gath- 
ered. They  were  all  mulattoes,  —  all  people  of 
mixed  blood  were  called  "  mulattoes  "  in  North 
Carolina.  There  w^ere  dark  mulattoes  and  bright 
mulattoes.  Mis'  Molly's  guests  were  mostly  of  the 
bright  class,  most  of  them  more  than  half  white, 
and  few  of  them  less.  In  Mis'  Molly's  small  circle, 
straight  hair  was  the  only  palliative  of  a  dark 
complexion.  Many  of  the  guests  would  not  have 
been  casually  distinguishable  from  white  people  of 
the  poorer  class.  Others  bore  unmistakable  traces 
of  Indian  ancestry,  —  for  Cherokee  and  Tuscarora 
blood  was  quite  widely  diffused  among  the  free 
negroes  of  North  Carolina,  though  well-nigh  lost 
sight  of  by  the  curious  custom  of  the  white  people 
to  ignore  anything  but  the  negro  blood  in  those 
who  were  touched  b}^  its  potent  current.  Very  few 
of  those  present  had  been  slaves.  The  free  colored 
people  of  Patesville  were  numerous  enough  before 
the  war  to  have  their  own  "  society,"  and  human 


210       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

enough  to  despise  those  who  did  not  possess  advan- 
tages equal  to  their  own ;  and  at  this  time  they  still 
looked  do^vii  ujjon  those  who  had  once  been  held  in 
bondage.  The  only  black  man  present  occupied  a 
chair  which  stood  on  a  broad  chest  in  one  corner, 
and  extracted  melody  from  a  fiddle  to  which  a 
whole  generation  of  the  best  people  of  Pates ville 
had  danced  and  made  merry.  Uncle  Needham 
seldom  played  for  colored  gatherings,  but  made  an 
exception  in  Mis'  Molly's  case ;  she  was  not  white, 
but  he  knew  her  past;  if  she  was  not  the  rose, 
she  had  at  least  been  near  the  rose.  When  the 
company  had  gathered,  Mary  B.,  as  mistress  of 
ceremonies,  whispered  to  Uncle  Needham,  who 
tapped  his  violin  sharply  with  the  bow. 

"  Ladies  an'  gent'emens,  take  yo'  pa'dners  fer  a 
Fuhginny  reel!  " 

Mr.  Wain,  as  the  guest  of  honor,  opened  the 
ball  with  his  hostess.  He  wore  a  broadcloth  coat 
and  trousers,  a  heavy  glittering  chain  across  the 
spacious  front  of  his  white  waistcoat,  and  a  large 
red  rose  in  his  buttonhole.  If  his  boots  were 
shghtly  run  down  at  the  heel,  so  trivial  a  detail 
passed  unnoticed  in  the  general  splendor  of  his 
attire.  Upon  a  close  or  hostile  inspection  there 
would  have  been  some  features  of  his  ostensibly 
good-natured  face — the  sliifty  eye,  the  full  and 
slightly  drooping  lower  lip  —  which  might  have 
given  a  student  of  physiognomy  food  for  reflection. 
But  whatever  the  latent  defects  of  Wain's  char- 
acter, he  proved  himself  this   evening  a  model  of 


THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR  211 

geniality,  presuming  not  at  all  upon  his  reputed 
wealth,  but  winning  golden  opinions  from  those 
who  came  to  criticise,  of  whom,  of  course,  there 
were  a  few,  the  company  being  composed  of  human 
beings. 

When  the  dance  began,  Wain  extended  his 
large,  soft  hand  to  Mary  B.,  yellow,  buxom,  thirty, 
with  white  and  even  teeth  glistening  behind  her 
full  red  lips.  A  younger  sister  of  Mary  B.'s  was 
pau-ed  ^vith  Billy  Oxendine,  a  funny  little  tailor, 
a  great  gossip,  and  therefore  a  favorite  among  the 
women.  Mis'  Moll}^  graciously  consented,  after 
many  protestations  of  lack  of  skill  and  want  of 
practice,  to  stand  up  opposite  Homer  Pettifoot, 
Mary  B.'s  husband,  a  tall  man,  with  a  slight  stoop, 
a  bald  crowai,  and  full,  di-eamy  eyes,  —  a  man  of 
much  imagination  and  a  large  fund  of  anecdote. 
Two  other  couples  completed  the  set ;  others  were 
restrained  by  bashfulness  or  religious  scruples, 
which  did  not  yield  until  later  in  the  evening. 

The  perfumed  air  from  the  garden  without  and 
the  cut  roses  within  mingled  incongruously  %^ith  the 
alien  odors  of  musk  and  hair  oil,  of  which  several 
young  barbers  in  the  company  were  especially  re- 
dolent. There  was  a  play  of  sparkling  eyes  and 
glancing  feet.  Mary  B.  danced  with  the  languor- 
ous grace  of  an  Eastern  odalisque.  Mis'  Molly  with 
the  mincing,  hesitating  step  of  one  long  out  of  prac- 
tice. Wain  performed  saltatory  prodigies.  This 
was  a  golden  opportunity  for  the  display  in  which 
his  soul  found  delight.     He  introduced  variations 


212       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

hitlierto  unknown  to  the  dance.  His  skill  and 
suppleness  brought  a  glow  of  admiration  into  the 
eyes  of  the  women,  and  spread  a  cloud  of  jealousy 
over  the  faces  of  several  of  the  younger  men,  who 
saw  themselves  eclipsed. 

Rena  had  announced  in  advance  her  intention 
to  take  no  active  part  in  the  festivities.  "  I  don't 
feel  like  dancing,  mamma  —  I  shall  never  dance 
again." 

"  Well,  now,  Rena,"  answered  her  mother,  "  of 
co'se  you  're  too  dignified,  sence  you  've  be'n  'socia- 
tin'  with  white  folks,  to  be  hoppin'  roun'  an'  kick- 
in'  up  like  Ma'y  B.  an'  these  other  yaller  gals ; 
but  of  co'se,  too,  you  can't  slight  the  comp'ny  en- 
tirely, even  ef  it  ain't  jest  exac'ly  our  party,  — 
you  '11  have  to  pay  'em  some  little  attention,  'spe- 
cially Mr.  Wain,  sence  you  're  goin'  down  yonder 
with  'im." 

Rena  conscientiously  did  what  she  thought  po- 
liteness required.  She  went  the  round  of  the  guests 
in  the  early  part  of  the  evening  and  exchanged 
greetings  with  them.  To  several  requests  for  dances 
she  replied  that  she  was  not  dancing.  She  did  not 
hold  herself  aloof  because  of  pride  ;  any  instinctive 
shrinking  she  might  have  felt  by  reason  of  her  re- 
cent association  with  persons  of  greater  refinement 
was  offset  by  her  still  more  newly  awakened  zeal 
for  humanity ;  they  were  her  people,  she  must  not 
despise  them.  But  the  occasion  suggested  pain- 
ful memories  of  other  and  different  scenes  in 
which  she  had  lately  participated.      Once  or  twice 


THE   GUEST   OF   HONOR  213 

these  memories  were  so  vivid  as  almost  to  over- 
power her.  She  slipped  away  from  the  company, 
and  kept  in  the  background  as  much  as  possible 
without  seeming  to  slight  any  one. 

The  guests  as  well  were  dimly  conscious  of  a 
slight  barrier  between  Mis'  MoUy's  daughter  and 
themselves.  The  time  she  had  spent  apart  from 
these  friends  of  her  youth  had  rendered  it  impossi- 
ble for  her  ever  to  meet  them  again  upon  the  plane 
of  common  interests  and  common  thoughts.  It 
was  much  as  though  one,  having  acquired  the  ver- 
nacular of  his  native  country,  had  lived  in  a  foreign 
land  long  enough  to  lose  the  language  of  his  child- 
hood mthout  acquiring  fully  that  of  his  adopted 
country.  Miss  Rowena  War^sdck  coidd  never  again 
become  quite  the  Kena  Walden  who  had  left  the 
house  beliind  the  cedars  no  more  than  a  year  and 
a  half  before.  Upon  this  very  difference  were 
based  her  noble  aspirations  for  usefulness,  —  one 
must  stoop  in  order  that  one  may  lift  others.  Any 
other  young  woman  present  would  have  been  impor- 
tuned beyond  her  powers  of  resistance.  Kena's 
reserve  was  respected. 

When  supper  was  announced,  somewhat  early  in 
the  evening,  the  dancers  found  seats  in  the  hall  or 
on  the  front  piazza.  Aunt  Zilphy,  assisted  by  iSIis' 
MoUy  and  Mary  B.,  passed  around  the  refresh- 
ments, which  consisted  of  fried  chicken,  buttered 
biscuits,  pound-cake,  and  eggnog.  When  the  fii'st 
edge  of  appetite  was  taken  off,  the  conversation 
waxed  animated.     Homer   Pettifoot  related,  with 


214       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 


> 


V^ 


minute  detail,  an  old,  threadbare  hunting  lie,  dat- 
ing, in  slightly  differing  forms,  from  the  age  of 
Nimrod,  about  finding  twenty-five  partridges  sit- 
ting in  a  row  on  a  rail,  and  killing  them  all  with  a 
single  buckshot,  which  passed  through  twenty-four 
and  lodged  in  the  body  of  the  twenty-fifth,  from 
which  it  was  extracted  and  returned  to  the  shot- 
pouch  for  future  service. 

This  story  was  followed  by  a  murmur  of  in- 
credulity—  of  course,  the  thing  was  possible,  but 
Homer's  faculty  for  exaggeration  was  so  well 
known  that  any  statement  of  his  was  viewed  with 
suspicion.  Homer  seemed  hurt  at  this  lack  of 
faith,  and  was  disposed  to  argue  the  point ;  but 
the  sonorous  voice  of  Mr.  Wain  on  the  other  side 
of  the  room  cut  short  his  protestations,  in  much 
the  same  way  that  the  rismg  sim  extinguishes  the 
light  of  lesser  luminaries. 

"  I  wuz  a  member  er  de  fus'  legislatur'  after  de 
wah,"  Wain  was  saying.  "  When  I  went  up  f'm 
Sampson  in  de  fall,  I  had  to  pass  th'ough  Smith- 
fiel'.  I  got  in  town  in  de  afternoon,  an'  put  up  at 
de  bes'  hotel.  De  lan'lo'd  did  n'  have  no  s'picion 
but  what  I  wuz  a  white  man,  an'  he  gimme  a  room, 
an'  I  had  supper  an'  breakfas',  an'  went  on  ter 
Eolly  nex'  mornin'.  W'en  de  session  wuz  over^ 
I  come  along  back,  an'  w'en  I  got  ter  Smithfiel',  I 
driv'  up  ter  de  same  hotel.  I  noticed,  as  soon  as  I 
got  dere,  dat  de  place  had  run  down  consid'able  — 
dere  wuz  weeds  growin'  in  de  yard,  de  winders  wuz 
dirty,  an'  ev'ything  roun'  dere  looked  kinder  lone- 


THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR  215 

some  an'  sliif'less.  De  lan'lo'd  met  me  at  de  do'; 
lie  looked  mighty  down  in  de  moutli,  an'  sezee :  — 

" '  Look  a-here,  w'at  made  you  come  an'  stop  at 
my  place  widout  tellin'  me  you  wuz  a  black  man  ? 
Befo'  you  come  th'ough  dis  town  I  had  a  f us'-class 
business.  But  w'en  folks  found  out  dat  a  nig- 
ger had  put  up  here,  business  drapped  right  off, 
an'  I  've  had  ter  shet  up  my  hotel.  You  oughter 
be  'shamed  er  yo'se'f  fer  ruinin'  a  po'  man  w'at 
had  n'  never  done  no  harm  ter  you.  You  've  done 
a  mean,  low-lived  thing,  an'  a  jes'  God  '11  punish 
you  fer  it.' 

*'  De  po'  man  acshully  bust  inter  tears,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Wain  magnanimously,  "  an'  I  felt  so 
sorry  fer  'im  —  he  wuz  a  po'  white  man  tryin'  ter 
git  up  in  de  worl'  —  dat  I  hauled  out  my  purse 
an'  gin  'im  ten  dollars,  an'  he  'peared  monst'ous 
glad  ter  git  it." 

"  How  good-hearted  !  How  kin' !  "  murmured 
the  ladies.     *'  It  done  credit  to  yo'  feelin's." 

"  Don't  b'lieve  a  word  er  dem  lies,"  muttered 
one  young  man  to  another  sarcastically.  ''  He 
could  n'  pass  fer  white,  'less'n  it  wuz  a  mighty  dark 
night." 

Upon  this  glorious  evening  of  his  life,  Mr. 
Jefferson  Wain  had  one  distinctly  hostile  critic, 
of  whose  presence  he  was  blissfully  unconscious. 
Frank  Fowler  had  not  been  invited  to  the  party,  — 
his  family  did  not  go  with  Mary  B.'s  set.  Rena 
had  suggested  to  her  mother  that  he  be  invited, 
but  Mis'  Molly  had  demurred  on  the  ground  that 


216       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

it  was  not  her  party,  and  that  she  had  no  right  to 
issue  invitations.  It  is  quite  likely  that  she  would 
have  sought  an  invitation  for  Frank  from  Mary 
B. ;  but  Frank  was  black,  and  would  not  harmonize 
with  the  rest  of  the  company,  who  would  not  have 
Mis'  Molly's  reasons  for  treating  him  well.  She 
had  compromised  the  matter  by  stepping  across  the 
way  in  the  afternoon  and  suggesting  that  Frank 
might  come  over  and  sit  on  the  back  porch  and 
look  at  the  dancing  and  share  in  the  supper. 

Frank  was  not  without  a  certain  honest  pride. 
He  was  sensitive  enough,  too,  not  to  care  to  go 
where  he  was  not  wanted.  He  would  have  curtly 
refused  any  such  maimed  invitation  to  any  other 
place.  But  would  he  not  see  Rena  in  her  best 
attire,  and  might  she  not  perhaps,  in  passing,  speak 
a  word  to  him  ? 

"Thank  y'.  Mis'  MoUy,"  he  replied,  "I'll 
prob'ly  come  over." 

"  You  're  a  big  fool,  boy,"  observed  his  father  after 
Mis'  Molly  had  gone  back  across  the  street,  "  ter 
be  stickin'  roun'  dem  yaller  niggers  'cross  de  street, 
an'  slobb'rin'  an'  slav'rin'  over  'em,  an'  hangin' 
roun'  deir  back  do'  wuss  'n  ef  dey  wuz  w'ite  folks. 
I  'd  see  'em  dead  f  us' !  " 

Frank  himself  resisted  the  temptation  for  half 
an  hour  after  the  music  began,  but  at  length  he 
made  his  way  across  the  street  and  stationed  him- 
self at  the  window  opening  upon  the  back  piazza. 
When  Bena  was  in  the  room,  he  had  eyes  for  her 
only,  but  when  she  was  absent,  he  fixed  his  at- 


THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR  217 

tention  mainly  upon  Wain.  With  jealous  clair- 
voyance he  observed  that  Wain's  eyes  followed 
Rena  when  she  left  the  room,  and  lit  up  when  she 
returned.  Frank  had  heard  that  Rena  was  going 
away  with  this  man,  and  he  watched  Wain  closely, 
lildng  him  less  the  longer  he  looked  at  him.  To 
his  fancy,  Wain's  style  and  skill  were  affectation, 
his  good-nature  mere  hypocrisy,  and  his  glance  at 
Rena  the  eye  of  the  haw^k  upon  his  quarry.  He 
had  heard  that  Wain  was  unmarried,  and  he  could 
not  see  how,  this  being  so,  he  could  help  washing 
Rena  for  a  wife.  Frank  would  have  been  content 
to  see  her  marry  a  white  man,  who  woidd  have 
raised  her  to  a  plane  worthy  of  her  merits.  In 
this  man's  shifty  eye  he  read  the  liar  —  his  wealth 
and  standing  were  probably  as  false  as  his  seem- 
ing good-humor. 

"  Is  that  you,  Frank  ?  "  said  a  soft  voice  near  at 
hand. 

He  looked  up  with  a  joyfid  thriU.  Rena  w^as 
peering  intently  at  him,  as  if  trying  to  distinguish 
his  features  in  the  darkness.  It  was  a  brisrht 
moonlight  night,  but  Frank  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  piazza. 

"  Yas  'm,  it's  me,  Miss  Rena.  Yo'  mammy  said 
I  could  come  over  an'  see  you-all  dance.  You  ain' 
be'n  out  on  de  flo'  at  all,  ter-night." 

"  No,  Frank,  I  don't  care  for  dancing.  I  shall 
not  dance  to-night." 

This  answer  was  pleasing  to  Frank.  If  he  could 
not  hope  to  dance  with  her,  at  least  the  men  inside 


218       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

—  at  least  this  snake  in  the  grass  from  down  the 
country  —  should  not  have  that  privilege. 

''  But  you  must  have  some  supper,  Frank,"  said 
Rena.     ''  I  '11  bring  it  myself." 

"No,  Miss  Rena,  I  don'  keer  fer  nothin'  —  I 
did  n'  come  over  ter  eat  —  r'al'y  I  did  n't." 

"  Nonsense,  Frank,  there  's  plenty  of  it.  I  have 
no  appetite,  and  you  shall  have  my  portion." 

She  brought  him  a  slice  of  cake  and  a  glass  of 
eggnog.  When  Mis'  Molly,  a  minute  later,  came 
out  upon  the  piazza,  Frank  left  the  yard  and 
walked  down  the  street  toward  the  old  canal.  Rena 
had  spoken  softly  to  him ;  she  had  fed  him  with 
her  own  dainty  hands.  He  might  never  hope  that 
she  would  see  in  him  anything  but  a  friend ;  but 
he  loved  her,  and  he  woidd  watch  over  her  and 
protect  her,  wherever  she  might  be.  He  did  not 
believe  that  she  would  ever  marry  the  grinning 
hypocrite  masquerading  back  there  in  Mis'  Molly's 
parlor ;  but  the  man  woidd  bear  watching. 

Mis'  Molly  had  come  to  call  her  daughter  into 
the  house.  "  Rena,"  she  said,  "  Mr.  Wain  wants 
ter  know  if  you  won't  dance  just  one  dance  with 
him." 

"  Yas,  Rena,"  pleaded  Mary  B.,  who  followed 
Miss  Molly  out  to  the  piazza,  "  jes'  one  dance.  I 
don't  think  you  're  treatin'  my  comp'ny  jes'  right, 
Cousin  Rena." 

"  You  're  goin'  down  there  with  'im,"  added  her 
mother,  "  an'  it  'd  be  just  as  well  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  'im." 


THE  GUEST  OF  HONOR  219 

Wain  himself  had  followed  the  women.  "  Sho'ly, 
Miss  Rena,  you  're  gwine  ter  honah  me  wid  one 
dance  ?  I  'd  go  'way  f 'm  dis  pa'ty  sad  at  hea't  ef 
I  had  n'  stood  up  oncet  wid  de  young  lady  er  de 
house." 

As  Rena,  weakly  persuaded,  placed  her  hand 
on  Wain's  arm  and  entered  the  house,  a  buggy, 
coming  up  Front  Street,  paused  a  moment  at  the 
corner,  and  then  turning  slowly,  drove  quietly  up 
the  nameless  by-street,  concealed  by  the  interven- 
ing cedars,  until  it  reached  a  point  from  which  the 
occupant  could  view,  through  the  open  front  window, 
the  interior  of  the  parlor. 


XXIV 

* 

SWING   YOUR   PARTNERS 

Moved  by  tenderness  and  thoughts  of  self-sac- 
rifice, which  had  occupied  his  mind  to  the  momen- 
tary exckision  of  all  else,  Tryon  had  scarcely 
noticed,  as  he  approached  the  house  behind  the 
cedars,  a  strain  of  lively  music,  to  which  was  added, 
as  he  drew  still  nearer,  the  accompaniment  of  other 
festive  sounds.  He  suddenly  awoke,  however,  to 
the  fact  that  these  signs  of  merriment  came  from 
the  house  at  which  he  had  intended  to  stoj) ;  — 
he  had  not  meant  that  Eena  should  pass  another 
sleepless  night  of  sorrow,  or  that  he  should  himself 
endure  another  needless  hour  of  suspense. 

He  drew  rein  at  the  corner.  Shocked  surprise, 
a  nascent  anger,  a  vague  alarm,  an  insistent  curi- 
osity, urged  him  nearer.  Turning  the  mare  into 
the  side  street  and  keeping  close  to  the  fence,  he 
drove  ahead  in  the  shadow  of  the  cedars  until  he 
reached  a  gap  through  which  he  could  see  into  the 
open  door  and  windows  of  the  brightly  lighted 
haU. 

There  was  evidently  a  ball  in  progress.  The 
fiddle  was  squeaking  merrily  to  a  tune  that  he 
remembered  well,  —  it  was  associated  with  one  of 


SWING  YOUR  PARTNERS  221 

the  most  deligiitfiil  evenings  of  his  Hfe,  that  of 
the  tournament  ball.  A  mellow  negro  voice  was 
calling  with  a  rhyming  accompaniment  the  figures 
of  a  quadrille.  Tryon,  with  parted  lips  and  slowly 
hardening  heart,  leaned  forward  from  the  buggy- 
seat,  grip23ing  the  rein  so  tightly  that  his  nails 
cut  into  the  opposing  palm.  Above  the  clatter  of 
noisy  conversation  rose  the  fiddler's  voice  :  — 

"  Swing'  yo'  pa'dners  ;  doan  be  shy, 
Look  yo'  lady  in  de  eye  ! 
Th'ow  yo'  ahm  aroun'  huh  wais' ; 
Take  yo'  time  —  dey  ain'  no  has'e  !  " 

To  the  middle  of  the  floor,  in  full  view  through 
an  open  window,  advanced  the  woman  who  all  day 
long  had  been  the  burden  of  his  thoughts  —  not 
pale  with  grief  and  hollow-eyed  with  weeping,  but 
flushed  with  pleasure,  around  her  waist  the  arm 
of  a  burly,  grinning  mulatto,  whose  face  was  offen- 
sively familiar  to  Tryon. 

With  a  muttered  curse  of  concentrated  bitter- 
ness, Tryon  struck  the  mare  a  sharp  blow  with 
the  whip.  The  sensitive  creature,  spirited  even 
in  her  great  weariness,  resented  the  lash  and 
started  off  with  the  bit  in  her  teeth.  Perceivino; 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  turn  in  the  narrow 
roadway  without  running  into  the  ditch  at  the 
left,  Tryon  gave  the  mare  rein  and  dashed  down 
the  street,  scarcely  missing,  as  the  buggy  crossed 
the  bridge,  a  man  standing  abstractedly  by  the  old 
canal,  who  sprang  aside  barely  m  time  to  avoid 
being  run  over. 


222       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

Meantime  Rena  was  passing  through  a  trying 
ordeal.  After  the  first  few  bars,  the  fiddler 
plunged  into  a  well-known  air,  in  which  Rena, 
keenly  susceptible  to  musical  impressions,  recog- 
nized the  tune  to  which,  as  Queen  of  Love  and 
Beauty,  she  had  opened  the  dance  at  her  entrance 
into  the  world  of  life  and  love,  for  it  was  there 
she  had  met  George  Tryon.  The  combination  of 
music  and  movement  brought  up  the  scene  with 
great  distinctness.  Tryon,  peering  angrily  through 
the  cedars,  had  not  been  more  conscious  than  she 
of  the  external  contrast  between  her  partners  on 
this  and  the  former  occasion.  She  perceived,  too, 
as  Tryon  from  the  outside  had  not,  the  difference 
between  Wain's  wordy  flattery  (only  saved  by  his 
cousin's  warning  from  pointed  and  fulsome  adu- 
lation), and  the  tenderly  gracefid  compliment, 
couched  in  the  romantic  terms  of  chivalry,  with 
which  the  knight  of  the  handkerchief  had  charmed 
her  ear.  It  was  only  by  an  immense  effort  that  she 
was  able  to  keep  her  emotions  under  control  until 
the  end  of  the  dance,  when  she  fled  to  her  chamber 
and  burst  into  tears.  It  was  not  the  cruel  Tryon 
who  had  blasted  her  love  with  his  deadly  look  that 
she  mourned,  but  the  gallant  young  knight  who 
had  worn  her  favor  on  his  lance  and  crowned  her 
Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty. 

Tryon's  stay  in  Patesville  was  very  brief.  He 
drove  to  the  hotel  and  put  up  for  the  night.  Dur- 
ing many  sleepless  hours  his  mind  was  in  a  turmoil 


SWING  YOUR  PARTNERS  223 

with  a  very  different  set  of  tliouglits  from  tliose 
which  had  occupied  it  on  the  way  to  town.  Not 
the  least  of  them  was  a  profound  self- con temjDt  for 
his  own  lack  of  discernment.  How  had  he  been 
so  blind  as  not  to  have  read  long  ago  the  charac- 
ter of  this  wretched  girl  who  had  bewitched  him  ? 
To-night  his  eyes  had  been  opened  —  he  had  seeif 
her  with  the  mask  thrown  off,  a  true  daughter  of 
a  race  in  which  the  sensuous  enjoyment  of  the  mo- 
ment took  precedence  of  taste  or  sentiment  or  any 
of  the  hio'her  emotions.  Her  few  months  of  board- 
ing-school,  her  brief  association  with  white  people, 
had  evidently  been  a  mere  veneer  over  the  under- 
lying negTo,  and  their  effects  had  slipped  away  as 
soon  as  the  intercourse  had  ceased.  With  the  mon- 
key-like imitativeness  of  the  negTO  she  had  copied 
the  manners  of  white  people  while  she  lived  among 
them,  and  had  dropped  them  with  equal  facility 
when  they  ceased  to  serve  a  purpose.  Who  but 
a  negTO  could  have  recovered  so  soon  from  what 
had  seemed  a  terrible  bereavement  ?  —  she  lierseK 
must  have  felt  it  at  the  time,  for  otherwise  she 
woidd  not  have  swooned.  A  woman  of  sensibility, 
as  this  one  had  seemed  to  be,  should  naturallv  feel 
more  keenly,  and  for  a  longer  time  than  a  man, 
an  injury  to  the  affections ;  but  he,  a  son  of  the 
ruling  race,  had  been  miserable  for  six  weeks  about 
a  girl  who  had  so  far  forgotten  him  as  already  to 
plunge  headlong  into  the  childish  amusements  of 
her  own  ignorant  and  degraded  people.  What 
more,  indeed,  he  asked  himself  savagely,  —  what 


224       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

more  could  be  expected  of  the  base-born  child  of 
the  plaything  of  a  gentleman's  idle  hour,  who  to 
this  ignoble  origin  added  the  blood  of  a  servile 
race  ?  And  he,  George  Tryon,  had  honored  her 
with  his  love ;  he  had  very  nearly  linked  his  fate 
and  joined  liis  blood  to  hers  by  the  solemn  sanc- 
tions of  church  and  state.  Tryon  was  not  a  devout 
man,  but  he  thanked  God  with  religious  fervor 
that  he  had  been  saved  a  second  time  from  a  mis- 
take which  w^oidd  have  wrecked  his  whole  future. 
If  he  had  yielded  to  the  momentary  weakness  of 
the  past  night,  —  the  outcome  of  a  sickly  senti- 
mentality to  which  he  recognized  now,  in  the  light 
of  reflection,  that  he  was  entirely  too  prone,  —  he 
woidd  have  regretted  it  soon  enough.  The  black 
streak  would  have  been  sure  to  come  out  in  some 
form,  sooner  or  later,  if  not  in  the  wife,  then  in 
her  childi-en.  He  saw  clearly  enough,  in  this  hour 
of  revulsion,  that  with  his  temperament  and  train- 
ing such  a  union  could  never  have  been  happy. 
If  all  the  world  had  been  ignorant  of  the  dark 
secret,  it  would  always  have  been  in  his  owti 
thoughts,  or  at  least  never  far  away.  Each  fault 
of  hers  that  the  close  daily  association  of  husband 
and  wife  might  reveal,  —  the  most  flawless  of 
sweethearts  do  not  pass  scathless  through  the  long 
test  of  matrimony,  —  every  wayward  impulse  of 
his  children,  every  defect  of  mind,  morals,  temper, 
or  health,  woidd  have  been  ascribed  to  the  dark 
ancestral  strain.  Happiness  under  such  conditions 
would  have  been  impossible. 


SWING  YOUR  PARTNERS  225 

When  Tryon  lay  awake  in  tlie  early  morning, 
after  a  few  brief  hours  of  sleep,  the  business  which 
had  brought  him  to  Pates ville  seemed,  in  the  cold 
light  of  reason,  so  ridiculously  inadequate  that  he 
felt  almost  ashamed  to  have  set  up  such  a  pretext 
for  his  journey.  The  prospect,  too,  of  meeting 
Dr.  Green  and  his  family,  of  having  to  explain 
his  former  sudden  departure,  and  of  running  a 
gauntlet  of  inquiry  concerning  his  marriage  to  the 
aristocratic  Miss  Warwick  of  South  Carolina; 
the  fear  that  some  one  at  Pates  ville  might  have 
suspected  a  connection  between  Rena's  swoon  and 
his  own  flight,  —  these  considerations  so  moved 
this  impressionable  and  impidsive  young  man  that 
he  called  a  bell-boy,  demanded  an  early  breakfast, 
ordered  his  horse,  paid  his  reckoning,  and  started 
upon  his  homeward  journey  forthwith.  A  certain 
distrust  of  his  own  sensibility,  which  he  felt  to 
be  curiously  inconsistent  with  his  most  positive 
convictions,  led  him  to  seek  the  river  bridge  by  a 
roundabout  route  which  did  not  take  him  past  the 
house  where,  a  few  hours  before,  he  had  seen  the 
last  fragTuent  of  his  idol  shattered  beyond  the  hope 
of  repair. 

The  party  broke  up  at  an  early  hour,  since  most 
of  the  guests  were  working-people,  and  the  travel- 
ers were  to  make  an  early  start  next  day.  About 
nine  in  the  morning,  Wain  drove  round  to  Mis' 
Molly's.  Rena's  trunk  was  strapped  behind  the 
buggy,  and  she  set  out,  in  the  company  of  Wain, 


226       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

for  her  new  field  of  labor.  The  school  term  was 
only  two  months  in  length,  and  she  did  not  expect 
to  return  until  its  expiration.  Just  before  taking 
her  seat  in  the  buggy,  Rena  felt  a  sudden  sinking 
of  the  heart. 

"Oh,  mother,"  she  whispered,  as  they  stood 
wrapped  in  a  close  embrace,  "  I  'm  afraid  to  leave 
you.  I  left  you  once,  and  it  turned  out  so  miser- 
ably." 

"  It  '11  turn  out  better  this  time,  honey,"  replied 
her  mother  soothingly.  "  Good-by,  child.  Take 
care  of  yo'self  an'  yo'r  money,  and  write  to  yo'r 
mammy." 

One  kiss  all  round,  and  Rena  was  lifted  into 
the  buggy.  Wain  seized  the  reins,  and  under  his 
skillful  touch  the  pretty  mare  began  to  prance  and 
curvet  with  restrained  impatience.  Wain  could 
not  resist  the  opjjortunity  to  show  off  before  the 
party,  wliich  included  Mary  B.'s  entire  family  and 
several  other  neighbors,  who  had  gathered  to  see 
the  travelers  off. 

"  Good-by  ter  Patesville !  Good-by,  folkses  all ! " 
he  cried,  with  a  wave  of  his  disengaged  hand. 

"  Good-by,  mother !  Good-by,  all !  "  cried  Rena, 
as  with  tears  in  her  heart  and  a  brave  smile  on  her 
face  she  left  her  home  behind  her  for  the  second 
time. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  river  bridge,  the 
travelers  came  to  a  long  stretch  of  rising  ground, 
from  the  summit  of  which  they  coidd  look  back 
over   the    white    sandy    road   for  nearly  a   mile. 


SWIXG  YOUR  PARTXERS  227 

Neither  Ren  a  nor  her  companion  saw  Frank  Fowler 
behind  the  chinquapin  bush  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
nor  the  gaze  of  mute  love  and  longing  with  which 
he  watched  the  bugg}^  mount  the  long  incline.  He 
had  not  been  able  to  trust  himself  to  bid  her  fare- 
well. He  had  seen  her  go  away  once  before  with 
every  prospect  of  happiness,  and  come  back,  a  dove 
with  a  wounded  wing,  to  the  old  nest  behind  the 
cedars.  She  was  going  away  again,  with  a  man 
whom  he  disliked  and  distrusted.  If  she  had  met 
misfortime  before,  what  were  her  prospects  for 
happiness  now? 

The  buggy  paused  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
Frank,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  thought  he 
could  see  her  turn  and  look  behind.  Look  back, 
dear  child,  towards  your  home  and  those  who  love 
you  !  For  who  knows  more  than  tliis  faithful  wor- 
shiper what  threads  of  the  past  Fate  is  weaving 
into  your  future,  or  whether  happiness  or  misery 
lies  before  you  ? 


XXV 

BALANCE   ALL 

The  road  to  Sampson  County  lay  for  the  most 
part  over  the  pine-clad  sandhills,  —  an  alternation 
of  gentle  rises  and  gradual  descents,  with  now  and 
then  a  swamp  of  greater  or  less  extent.  Long 
stretches  of  the  highway  led  through  the  virgin 
forest,  for  miles  unbroken  by  a  clearing  or  sign  of 
human  habitation. 

They  traveled  slowly,  with  frequent  pauses  in 
shady  places,  for  the  weather  was  hot.  The  jour- 
ney, made  leisurely,  required  more  than  a  day, 
and  might  with  slight  effort  be  prolonged  into 
two.  They  stopped  for  the  night  at  a  small  vil- 
lage, where  Wain  found  lodging  for  Rena  with  an 
acquaintance  of  his,  and  for  himself  with  another, 
while  a  third  took  charge  of  the  horse,  the  accom- 
modation for  travelers  being  limited.  Rena's  ap- 
pearance and  manners  were  the  subject  of  much 
comment.  It  was  necessary  to  explain  to  several 
curious  white  people  that  Rena  was  a  woman  of 
color.  A  white  woman  might  have  driven  with 
Wain  wdthout  attracting  remark,  —  most  white 
ladies  had  negro  coachmen.  That  a  woman  of 
Rena's  complexion  should  eat  at  a  negro's  table,  or 


BALANCE  ALL  229 

sleep  beneath  a  negro's  roof,  was  a  seeming  breach 
of  caste  which  only  black  blood  could  excuse.  The 
ex23lanation  was  never  questioned.  No  white  per- 
son of  sound  mind  would  ever  claim  to  be  a 
negro. 

They  resumed  their  journey  somewhat  late  in  the 
morning.  Rena  would  willingly  have  hastened,  for 
she  was  anxious  to  plunge  into  her  new  work  ;  but 
Wain  seemed  disposed  to  prolong  the  pleasant  drive, 
and  be^Tiiled  the  way  for  a  time  with  stories  of  won- 
derful things  he  had  done  and  strange  experiences 
of  a  somewhat  checkered  career.  He  was  shrewd 
enough  to  avoid  any  subject  which  would  offend  a 
modest  young  woman,  but  too  obtuse  to  perceive 
that  much  of  what  he  said  would  not  commend 
him  to  a  person  of  refinement.  He  made  little 
reference  to  his  possessions,  concerning  which  so 
much  had  been  said  at  Patesville  ;  and  this  reti- 
cence was  a  point  in  his  favor.  If  he  had  not 
been  so  much  upon  his  giiard  and  Ren  a  so  much 
absorbed  by  thoughts  of  her  future  woi'k,  such  a 
drive  would  have  furnished  a  person  of  her  discern- 
ment a  very  fair  measure  of  the  man's  character. 
To  these  distractions  must  be  added  the  entire 
absence  of  any  idea  that  Wain  might  have  amo- 
rous desigTis  upon  her ;  and  any  shortcomings  of 
manners  or  speech  were  covered  by  the  broad  man- 
tle of  charity  which  Ren  a  in  her  new-fomid  zeal  for 
the  welfare  of  her  people  was  willing  to  throw  over 
all  their  faults.  They  were  the  victims  of  ojDpres- 
sion  ;  they  were  not  responsible  for  its  results. 


i 


230       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

Toward  the  end  of  the  second  day,  while  near- 
ing  their  destination,  the  travelers  passed  a  large 
white  house  standing  back  from  the  road  at  the 
foot  of  a  lane.  Around  it  grew  widespreading 
trees  and  well-kept  shrubbery.  The  fences  were 
in  good  repair.  Behind  the  house  and  across  the 
road  stretched  extensive  fields  of  cotton  and  wav- 
ing corn.  They  had  passed  no  other  place  that 
showed  such  signs  of  tlirift  and  prosperity. 

"  Oh,  what  a  lovely  place !  "  exclaimed  Rena. 
"  That  is  yours,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  we  ain't  got  to  my  house  yet,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Dat  house  b'longs  ter  de  riches'  people 
roun'  here.  Dat  house  is  over  in  de  nex'  county. 
We  're  right  close  to  de  line  now." 

Shortly  afterwards  they  turned  off  from  the 
main  highway  they  had  been  pursuing,  and  struck 
into  a  narrower  road  to  the  left. 

"  De  main  road,"  explained  Wain,  "  goes  on  to 
Clinton,  'bout  five  miles  er  mo'  away.  Dis  one 
we  're  turnin'  inter  now  will  take  us  to  my  place, 
which  is  'bout  tlu^ee  miles  fu'ther  on.  We  '11  git 
dere  now  in  an  hour  er  so." 

Wain  lived  in  an  old  plantation  house,  somewhat 
dilapidated,  and  surrounded  by  an  air  of  neglect 
and  shiftlessness,  but  still  preserving  a  remnant 
of  dignity  in  its  outlines  and  comfort  in  its  interior 
arrangements.  Rena  was  assigned  a  large  room  on 
the  second  floor.  She  was  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  make-up  of  the  household.  Wain's  mother  — 
an  old  woman,  much  darker  than  her  son  —  kept 


BALANCE  ALL  231 

house  for  him.  A  sister  with  two  children  lived 
in  the  house.  The  element  of  surprise  lay  in  the 
presence  of  two  small  children  left  by  Wain's  wife, 
of  whom  Rena  now  heard  for  the  first  time.  He 
had  lost  his  wife,  he  informed  Kena  sadly,  a  couple 
of  years  before. 

"  Yas,  Miss  Rena,"  she  sighed,  "  de  Lawd  give 
her,  an'  de  Lawd  tuck  her  away.  Blessed  be  de 
name  er  de  Lawd."  He  accompanied  this  senten- 
tious quotation  with  a  wicked  look  from  under  his 
half-closed  eyelids  that  Rena  did  not  see. 

The  following  morning  Wain  drove  her  in  his 
buggy  over  to  the  county  town,  where  she  took  the 
teacher's  examination.  She  was  given  a  seat  in  a 
room  with  a  number  of  other  candidates  for  cer- 
tificates, but  the  fact  leaking  out  from  some  remark 
of  W^ain's  that  she  was  a  colored  girl,  objection 
was  quietly  made  by  several  of  the  would-be  teach- 
ers to  her  presence  in  the  room,  and  she  was  re- 
quested to  retire  until  the  white  teachers  should 
have  been  examined.  An  hour  or  two  later  she 
was  given  a  separate  examination,  which  she  passed 
without  difficulty.  The  examiner,  a  gentleman  of 
local  standing,  was  dimly  conscious  that  she  might 
not  have  found  her  exclusion  pleasant,  and  was 
especially  polite.  It  woidd  have  been  strange, 
mdeed,  if  he  had  not  been  impressed  by  her  sweet 
face  and  air  of  modest  dignity,  which  were  all  the 
more  striking  because  of  her  social  disability.  He 
fell  into  conversation  with  her,  became  interested 
in  her  hopes  and  aims,  and  very  cordially  offered 


232       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

to  be  of  service,  if  at  any  time  lie  might,  in  con- 
nection with  her  schooL 

"  You  have  the  satisfaction,"  he  said,  "  of  receiv- 
ing the  only  first-grade  certificate  issued  to-day. 
You  might  teach  a  higher  grade  of  pupils  than  you 
will  find  at  Sandy  Run,  but  let  us  hope  that  you 
may  in  time  raise  them  to  your  own  level." 

"  Which  I  doubt  very  much,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  as  she  went  away  with  Wain.  "  What  a 
pity  that  such  a  woman  should  be  a  nigger !  If 
she  were  anything  to  me,  though,  I  should  hate 
to  trust  her  anywhere  near  that  saddle-colored 
scoundrel.  He  's  a  thoroughly  bad  lot,  and  will 
bear  watching." 

Rena,  however,  was  serenely  ignorant  of  any 
danger  from  the  accommodating  Wain.  Absorbed 
in  her  own  thoughts  and  plans,  she  had  not  sought 
to  look  beneath  the  surface  of  his  somewhat  over- 
done politeness.  In  a  few  days  she  began  her  work 
as  teacher,  and  sought  to  forget  in  the  service  of 
others  the  dull  sorrow  that  still  gnawed  at  her  heart. 


XXVI 

THE    SCHOOLHOUSE   IN   THE   WOODS 

Blanche  Leaky,  closely  observant  of  Tryon's 
moods,  marked  a  decided  change  in  his  manner 
after  his  return  from  his  trip  to  Patesville.  His 
former  moroseness  had  given  way  to  a  certain 
defiant  lightness,  broken  now  and  then  by  an 
involuntary  sigh,  but  maintained  so  well,  on  the 
whole,  that  his  mother  detected  no  lapses  whatever. 
The  change  was  characterized  by  another  feature 
agreeable  to  both  the  women :  Tryon  showed 
decidedly  more  interest  than  ever  before  in  Miss 
Leary's  society.  Within  a  week  he  asked  her 
several  times  to  play  a  selection  on  the  piano,  dis- 
playing, as  she  noticed,  a  decided  preference  for 
gay  and  cheerful  music,  and  several  times  suggest- 
ing a  change  when  she  chose  pieces  of  a  sentimental 
cast.  More  than  once,  during  the  second  week 
after  his  return,  he  went  out  riding  w^ith  her;  she 
was  a  gi'aceful  horsewoman,  perfectly  at  home  in 
the  saddle,  and  appearing  to  advantage  in  a  riding- 
habit.  She  was  aware  that  Tryon  watched  her  now 
and  then,  with  an  eye  rather  critical  than  indulgent. 

"He  is  comparing  me  with  some  other  girl," 
she  surmised.    "  I  seem  to  stand  the  test  very  well. 


234       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

I  wonder  who    the    other  is,  and  what  was   the 
trouble?" 

Miss  Leary  exerted  all  her  powers  to  interest 
and  amuse  the  man  she  had  set  out  to  win,  and 
who  seemed  nearer  than  ever  before.  Tryon,  to 
his  pleased  surprise,  discovered  in  her  mind  depths 
that  he  had  never  suspected.  She  displayed  a 
singular  affinity  for  the  tastes  that  were  his  —  he 
could  not,  of  course,  know  how  carefully  she  had 
studied  them.  The  old  wound,  recently  reopened, 
seemed  to  be  heahng  rapidly,  under  conditions 
more  conducive  than  before  to  perfect  recovery. 
No  longer,  indeed,  was  he  pursued  by  the  picture 
of  Rena  discovered  and  unmasked  —  this  he  had 
definitely  banished  from  the  realm  of  sentiment  to 
that  of  reason.  The  haunting  image  of  Rena  lov- 
ing and  beloved,  amid  the  harmonious  surroundings 
of  her  brother's  home,  was  not  so  readily  displaced. 
Nevertheless,  he  reached  in  several  weeks  a  point 
from  which  he  could  consider  her  as  one  thinks  of 
a  dear  one  removed  by  the  hand  of  death,  or  smit- 
ten by  some  incurable  ailment  of  mind  or  body. 
Erelong,  he  fondly  believed,  the  recovery  would 
be  so  far  complete  that  he  could  consign  to  the 
tomb  of  pleasant  memories  even  the  most  thrilling 
episodes  of  his  ill-starred  courtship. 

"  George,"  said  Mrs.  Tryon  one  morning  while 
her  son  was  in  this  cheerfid  mood,  "  I  'm  sending 
Blanche  over  to  Major  McLeod's  to  do  an  errand 
for  me.  Would  you  mind  driving  her  over  ?  The 
road  may  be  rough  after  the  storm  last  night,  and 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS     235 

Blanclie  has  an  idea  tliat  no  one  drives  so  well  as 
you." 

"  Why,  yes,  mother,  I  '11  be  glad  to  drive  Blanche 
over.     I  want  to  see  the  major  myself." 

They  were  soon  bowling  along  between  the  pines, 
behind  the  handsome  mare  that  had  carried  Tryon 
so  well  at  the  Clarence  tournament.  Presently  he 
drew  up  sharply. 

"  A  tree  has  fallen  squarely  across  the  road,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  We  shall  have  to  turn  back  a  little 
way  and  go  around." 

They  drove  back  a  quarter  of  a  mile  and  turned 
into  a  by-road  leading  to  the  right  through  the 
woods.  The  solemn  silence  of  the  pine  forest  is 
soothing  or  oppressive,  according  to  one's  mood. 
Beneath  the  cool  arcade  of  the  tall,  overarching 
trees  a  deep  peace  stole  over  Tryon's  heart.  He 
had  put  aside  indefinitely  and  forever  an  unhappy 
and  impossible  love.  The  pretty  and  affectionate 
girl  beside  him  would  make  an  ideal  wife.  Of 
her  family  and  blood  he  was  sure.  She  was  his 
mother's  choice,  and  liis  mother  had  set  her  heart 
U23on  their  marriage.  Why  not  speak  to  her  now, 
and  thus  give  himself  the  best  possible  protection 
against  stray  flames  of  love? 

"  Blanche,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  kindly. 

"  Yes,  George  ?  "  Her  voice  was  very  gentle, 
and  slightly  tremulous.  Could  she  have  divined 
his  thought?     Love  is  a  great  clairvoyant. 

"  Blanche,  dear,  I  "  — 

A  clatter  of  voices  broke  upon  the  stillness  of 


236       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

the  forest  and  interrupted  Tryon's  speech.  A 
sudden  turn  to  the  left  brought  the  buggy  to  a 
little  clearing,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  a  small 
log  schoolhouse.  Out  of  the  schoolhouse  a  swarm 
of  colored  children  were  emerging,  the  suppressed 
energy  of  the  school  hour  finding  vent  in  vocal 
exercise  of  various  sorts.  A  group  had  already 
formed  a  ring,  and  were  singing  with  great  volume 
and  vigor :  — 

"  Miss  Jane,  she  loves  sug-ar  an'  tea, 
Miss  Jane,  she  loves  candy. 
Miss  Jane,  she  can  whirl  all  around 
An'  kiss  her  love  quite  handy. 

"  De  oak  grows  tall, 
De  pine  grows  slim, 
So  rise  you  up,  my  true  love, 
An'  let  me  come  in." 

"  What  a  funny  little  darkey ! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Leary,  pointing  to  a  diminutive  lad  who  was  walk- 
ing on  his  hands,  with  his  feet  balanced  in  the  air. 
At  sight  of  the  buggy  and  its  occupants  this  sable 
acrobat,  still  retaining  his  inverted  position,  moved 
toward  the  newcomers,  and,  reversing  himseK  with 
a  sudden  spring,  brought  up  standing  beside  the 


"  Hoddy,  Mars  Geo'ge  !  "  he  exclaimed,  bobbing 
his  head  and  kicking  his  heel  out  behind  in  ap- 
proved plantation  style. 

"  Hello,  Plato,"  replied  the  young  man,  •••  what 
are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Gwine  ter  school,  Mars  Geo'ge,"  replied  the 


THE  SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS     237 

lad;  "larniii'  ter  read  an'  write,  sub,  lack  de  w'ite 
folks." 

"Wat  you  callin'  dat  w'ite  man  marster  fur?  " 
whispered  a  tall  yellow  boy  to  the  acrobat  addressed 
as  Plato.  "You  don'  b'long  ter  him  no  mo';  you  're 
free,  an'  ain'  got  sense  ernuff  ter  know  it." 

Try  on  threw  a  small  coin  to  Plato,  and  holding 
another  in  his  hand  suggestively,  smiled  toward  the 
tall  yellow  boy,  who  looked  regretfully  at  the  coin, 
but  stood  his  ground  ;  he  would  call  no  man  master, 
not  even  for  a  piece  of  money. 

During  this  little  colloquy.  Miss  Leary  had  kept 
her  face  turned  toward  the  schoolhouse. 

"  What  a  pretty  girl ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  There," 
she  added,  as  Tryon  turned  his  head  toward  her, 
"  you  are  too  late.  She  has  retired  into  her  castle. 
Oh,  Plato !  " 

"  Yas,  missis,"  replied  Plato,  who  was  prancing 
round  the  buggy  in  great  glee,  on  the  strength  of 
his  acquaintance  with  the  white  folks. 

"  Is  your  teacher  white  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'm,  she  ain't  w'ite  ;  she 's  black.  She 
looks  lack  she 's  w'ite,  but  she  's  black." 

Tryon  had  not  seen  the  teacher's  face,  but  the 
incident  had  jarred  the  old  wound ;  Miss  Leary's 
description  of  the  teacher,  together  with  Plato's 
characterization,  had  stirred  lightly  sleeping  memo- 
ries. He  was  more  or  less  abstracted  durinof  the 
remainder  of  the  drive,  and  did  not  recur  to  the 
conversation  that  had  been  interrupted  by  coming 
upon  the  schoolhouse. 


238       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

The  teacher,  glancing  for  a  moment  through  the 
open  door  of  the  schoolhouse,  had  seen  a  hand- 
some young  lady  staring  at  her,  —  Miss  Leary  had 
a  curiously  intent  look  when  she  was  interested  in 
anything,  with  no  intention  whatever  to  be  rude,  — 
and  beyond  the  lady  the  back  and  shoulder  of  a 
man,  whose  face  was  turned  the  other  way.  There 
was  a  vague  suggestion  of  something  famihar  about 
the  equipage,  but  Rena  shrank  from  tliis  close 
scrutiny  and  withdrew  out  of  sight  before  she  had 
had  an  opportunity  to  identify  the  vague  resem- 
blance to  something  she  had  known. 

Miss  Leary  had  missed  by  a  hair's-breadth  the 
psychological  moment,  and  felt  some  resentment 
toward  the  little  negroes  who  had  interrupted  her 
lover's  train  of  thought.  Negroes  have  caused  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  among  white  people.  How 
deeply  the  shadow  of  the  Etliiopian  had  fallen 
upon  her  own  happiness,  Miss  Leary  of  course 
could  not  guess. 


XXYII 

AN   INTERESTING   ACQUAINTANCE 

A  FEW  days  later,  Rena  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow near  her  desk  and  saw  a  low  basket  phaeton, 
drawn  by  a  sorrel  pony,  driven  sharply  into  the 
clearing  and  drawa  up  beside  an  oak  sapling. 
The  occupant  of  the  jDhaeton,  a  tall,  handsome, 
well-preserved  lady  in  middle  life,  with  slightly 
gray  hair,  alighted  briskly  from  the  phaeton,  tied 
the  pony  to  the  sapling  with  a  hitching-strap,  and 
advanced  to  the  schoolhouse  door. 

Rena  wondered  who  the  lady  might  be.  She 
had  a  benevolent  asj^ect,  however,  and  came  for- 
ward to  the  desk  with  a  smile,  not  at  all  embar- 
rassed by  the  wide-eyed  inspection  of  the  entire 
school. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  she  said,  extending  her 
hand  to  the  teacher.  "  I  live  in  the  neighborhood 
and  am  interested  in  the  colored  people  —  a  good 
many  of  them  once  belonged  to  me.  I  heard 
something  of  your  school,  and  thought  I  should 
like  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  indeed,"  murmured 
Rena  respectfully. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  lady,  "  I  am  not  one  of 


240      THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

those  wlio  sit  back  and  blame  their  former  slaves 
because  they  were  freed.  They  are  free  now,  —  it 
is  all  decided  and  settled,  —  and  they  ought  to  be 
taught  enough  to  enable  them  to  make  good  use  of 
their  freedom.  But  really,  my  dear,  —  you  must  n't 
feel  offended  if  I  make  a  mistake,  —  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  something  very  personal."  She  looked 
suggestively  at  the  gaping  pupils. 

"  The  school  may  take  the  morning  recess  now," 
announced  the  teacher.  The  pupils  filed  out  in 
an  orderly  manner,  most  of  them  stationing  them- 
selves about  the  grounds  in  such  places  as  would 
keep  the  teacher  and  the  white  lady  in  view.  Very 
few  white  persons  approved  of  the  colored  schools ; 
no  other  white  person  had  ever  visited  this  one. 

"  Are  you  really  colored  ?  "  asked  the  lady,  when 
the  children  had  withdrawn. 

A  year  and  a  half  earlier,  Rena  would  have  met 
the  question  by  some  display  of  self-consciousness. 
Now,  she  replied  simply  and  directly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  am  colored." 

The  lady,  who  had  been  studying  her  as  closely 
as  good  manners  would  permit,  sighed  regretfully. 

"  Well,  it 's  a  shame.  No  one  would  ever  think 
it.  If  you  chose  to  conceal  it,  no  one  would  ever 
be  the  wiser.  What  is  your  name,  child,  and  where 
were  you  brought  up?  You  must  have  a  romantic 
history." 

Rena  gave  her  name  and  a  few  facts  in  regard 
to  her  past.  The  lady  was  so  much  interested, 
and  put  so  many  and   such  searching  questions. 


AN  INTERESTING  ACQUAINTANCE      241 

that  Rena  really  found  it  more  difficult  to  suppress 
the  fact  that  she  had  been  white,  than  she  had 
formerly  had'  in  hiding  her  African  origin.  There 
was  about  the  girl  an  air  of  real  refinement  that 
pleased  the  lady,  —  the  refinement  not  merely  of 
a  fine  nature,  but  of  contact  with  cultured  people ; 
a  certain  reserve  of  speech  and  manner  quite 
inconsistent  with  Mrs.  Tryon's  experience  of  col- 
ored women.  The  lady  was  interested  and  slightly 
mystified.  A  generous,  impulsive  sj)irit,  —  her 
son's  own  mother,  —  she  made  minute  inquiries 
about  the  school  and  the  pupils,  several  of  whom 
she  knew  by  name.  Rena  stated  that  the  two 
months'  term  was  nearing  its  end,  and  that  she 
was  training  the  children  in  various  declamations 
and  dialogues  for  the  exhibition  at  the  close. 

"  I  shall  attend  it,"  declared  the  lady  positively. 
"  I  'm  sure  you  are  doing  a  good  work,  and  it  's 
very  noble  of  you  to  undertake  it  when  you  might 
have  a  very  different  future.  If  I  can  serve  you 
at  any  time,  don't  hesitate  to  call  upon  me.  I 
live  in  the  big  white  house  just  before  you  turn 
out  of  the  Clinton  road  to  come  this  way.  I  'm 
only  a  widow,  but  my  son  George  lives  with  me 
and  has  some  influence  in  the  neighborhood.  He 
drove  by  here  yesterday  with  the  lady  he  is  going 
to  marry.     It  was  she  who  told  me  about  you." 

Was  it  the  name,  or  some  subtle  resemblance 
in  speech  or  feature,  that  recalled  Tryon's  image 
to  Rena's  mind  ?  It  was  not  so  far  away  —  the 
image  of  the  loving  Tryon  —  that  any  powerful 


242       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

j 

witchcraft  was  required  to  call  it  up.     His  motlier  ] 

was  a  widow ;  Rena  had  thought,  in  happier  days, 
that  she  might  be  such  a  kind  lady  as  this.     But  ! 

the  cruel  Try  on  who  had  left  her  —  his  mother 
would  be  some  hard,  cold,  proud  woman,  who 
would  regard  a  negro  as  but  little  better  than  a 
dog,  and  who  would  not  soil  her  lips  by  addressing  i 

a  colored  person  upon  any  other  terms  than  as  a  \ 

servant.     She  knew,  too,  that  Tryon  did  not  live  \ 

in  Sampson  County,  though  the  exact  location  of  | 

his  home  was  not  clear  to  her. 

"  And  where  are  you  staying,  my  dear  ?  "  asked 
the  good  lady. 

"  I  'm   boarding   at    Mrs.   Wain's,"    answered  ] 

Kena. 

"  Mrs.  Wain's  ?  " 
Yes,  they  live  in  the  old  Campbell  place."  | 

Oh,  yes  —  Aunt  Nancy.     She  's  a  good  enough  | 

woman,  but  we  don't  think  much  of  her  son  Jeff.  i 

He  married  my  Amanda  after  the  war  —  she  used  ; 

to  belong  to  me,  and  ought  to  have  known  better. 
He  abused  her  most  shamefully,  and  had  to  be 
threatened  with  the  law.  She  left  him  a  year  or 
so  ago  and  went  away ;  I  have  n't  seen  her  lately. 
Well,  good-by ,  child  ;  I  'm  coming  to  your  exhi- 
bition.    If  you  ever  pass  my  house,  come  in  and 


see  me." 


The  good  lady  had  talked  for  half  an  hour,  and 
had  brought  a  ray  of  sunshine  into  the  teacher's 
monotonous  life,  heretofore  lighted  only  by  the 
uncertain  lamp  of  high  resolve.     She  had  satisfied 


AN  INTERESTING  ACQUAINTANCE      243 

a  pardonable  curiosity,  and  had  gone  away  with- 
out mentioning  her  name. 

Rena  saw  Plato  untying  the  pony  as  the  lady 
climbed  into  the  phaeton. 

"  Who  was  the  lady,  Plato  ?  "  asked  the  teacher 
when  the  visitor  had  driven  away. 

"  Dat  'uz  my  ole  mist'iss,  ma'm,"  returned  Plato 
proudly,  —  "ole  Mis'  'Liza." 

"  Mis'  'Liza  who  ?  "  asked  Rena. 

"Mis'  'Liza  Tryon.  I  use'  ter  b'long  ter  her. 
Dat  'uz  her  son,  my  young  Mars  Geo'ge,  w'at  driv 
pas'  hyuh  yistiddy  wid  'is  sweetheart." 


XXVIII 

THE    LOST   KNIFE 

Rena  liad  found  lier  task  not  a  difficult  one  so 
far  as  discijjline  was  concerned.  Her  pupils  were 
of  a  docile  race,  and  school  to  them  had  all  the 
charm  of  novelty.  The  teacher  commanded  some 
awe  because  she  was  a  stranger,  and  some,  perhaps, 
because  she  was  white  ;  for  the  theory  of  blackness 
as  propounded  by  Plato  could  not  quite  counter- 
balance in  the  young  African  mind  the  evidence  of 
their  own  senses.  She  combined  gentleness  with 
firmness ;  and  if  these  had  not  been  sufficient, 
she  had  reserves  of  character  which  would  have 
given  her  the  mastery  over  much  less  plastic  mate- 
rial than  these  ignorant  but  eager  young  people. 
The  work  of  instruction  was  simple  enough,  for 
most  of  the  pupils  began  with  the  alphabet,  which 
they  acquired  from  Webster's  blue-backed  spelling- 
book,  the  palladium  of  Southern  education  at  that 
epoch.  The  much  abused  carpet-baggers  had  put 
the  spelling-book  within  reach  of  every  child  of 
school  age  in  North  Carolina,  —  a  fact  which  is 
often  overlooked  when  the  carpet-baggers  are  held 
up  to  public  odium.  Even  the  devil  should  have 
his  due,  and  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted. 


THE  LOST  KNIFE  245 

At  the  time  when  she  learned  that  Tryon  lived 
in  the  neighborhood,  Rena  had  already  been  sub- 
jected for  several  weeks  to  a  trying  ordeal.  AVain 
had  begun  to  persecute  her  with  marked  attentions. 
She  had  at  first  gone  to  board  at  his  house,  —  or, 
by  courtesy,  with  his  mother.  For  a  week  or  two 
she  had  considered  his  attentions  in  no  other  light 
than  those  of  a  member  of  the  school  committee 
sharing  her  own  zeal  and  interested  in  seeing  the 
school  successfully  carried  on.  In  this  character 
Wain  had  driven  her  to  the  town  for  her  exami- 
nation ;  he  had  busied  himself  about  putting  the 
schoolliouse  in  order,  and  in  various  matters  affect- 
ing the  conduct  of  the  school.  He  had  jocularly 
offered  to  come  and  whip  the  children  for  her,  and 
had  found  it  convenient  to  drop  in  occasionally, 
ostensibly  to  see  what  progress  the  work  was 
making. 

"  Dese  child' en,"  he  would  observe  sonorously, 
in  the  presence  of  the  school,  "  oughter  be  mon- 
st'ous  glad  ter  have  de  chance  er  settin'  under 
yo'  instruction.  Miss  Hena.  I  'm  sho'  eve'body  in 
dis  neighbo'hood  'predates  de  priv'lege  er  havin' 
you  in  ou'  mids'." 

Though  slightly  embarrassing  to  the  teacher, 
these  pubhc  demonstrations  were  endurable  so  long 
as  they  could  be  regarded  as  mere  official  appre- 
ciation of  her  work.  Sincerely  in  earnest  about 
her  undertaking,  she  had  plunged  into  it  wath 
all  the  intensity  of  a  serious  nature  which  love 
had  stirred  to  activity.     A  pessimist  might  have 


246       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

siglied  sadly  or  smiled  cynically  at  the  notion  that 
a  poor,  weak  girl,  with  a  dangerous  beauty  and  a 
sensitive  soul,  and  troubles  enough  of  her  own, 
should  hope  to  accomplish  anything  appreciable 
toward  lifting  the  black  mass  still  floundering 
in  the  mud  where  slavery  had  left  it,  and  where 
emancipation  had  found  it,  —  the  mud  in  which, 
for  aught  that  could  be  seen  to  the  contrary,  her 
little  feet,  too,  were  hopelessly  entangled.  It  might 
have  seemed  like  expecting  a  man  to  lift  himself 
by  his  boot-straps. 

But  Rena  was  no  philosopher,  either  sad  or 
cheerful.  She  could  not  even  have  replied  to 
this  argument,  that  races  must  lift  themselves, 
and  the  most  that  can  be  done  by  others  is  to 
give  them  opportunity  and  fair  play.  Hers  was 
a  simpler  reasoning,  —  the  logic  by  which  the 
world  is  kept  going  onward  and  upward  when 
philosophers  are  at  odds  and  reformers  are  not 
forthcoming.  She  knew  that  for  every  child  she 
taught  to  read  and  write  she  opened,  if  ever  so 
little,  the  door  of  opportunity,  and  she  was  happy 
in  the  consciousness  of  performing  a  duty  which 
seemed  all  the  more  imperative  because  newly  dis- 
covered. Her  zeal,  indeed,  for  the  time  being  was 
like  that  of  an  early  Christian,  who  was  more 
willing"  than  not  to  die  for  his  faith.  Rena  had 
fully  and  firmly  made  up  her  mind  to  sacrifice  her 
life  upon  this  altar.  Her  absorption  in  the  work 
had  not  been  without  its  reward,  for  thereby  she 
had  been  able  to  keep  at  a  distance  the  spectre  of 


THE  LOST  KNIFE  247 

her  lost  love.  Her  dreams  she  could  not  control, 
but  she  banished  Tryon  as  far  as  possible  from  her 
waking  thoughts. 

When  Wain's  attentions  became  obviously  per- 
sonal, Rena's  new  vestal  instinct  took  alarm,  and 
she  began  to  apprehend  his  character  more  clearly. 
She  had  long  ago  learned  that  his  pretensions  to 
wealth  were  a  sham.  He  was  nominal  owner  of 
a  large  plantation,  it  is  true  ;  but  the  land  was 
worn  out,  and  mortgaged  to  the  limit  of  its  secur- 
ity value.  His  reputed  droves  of  cattle  and  hogs 
had  dwindled  to  a  mere  handful  of  lean  and  list- 
less brutes. 

Her  clear  eye,  when  once  set  to  take  Wain's 
measure,  soon  fathomed  his  shallow,  selfish  soul, 
and  detected,  or  at  least  divined,  behind  his  mask 
of  good-nature  a  lurking  brutality  which  filled  her 
with  vague  distrust,  needing  only  occasion  to  de- 
velop it  into  active  apprehension,  —  occasion  which 
was  not  long  wanting.  She  avoided  being  alone 
with  him  at  home  by  keeping  carefully  with  the 
women  of  the  house.  If  she  were  left  alone,  —  and 
they  soon  showed  a  tendency  to  leave  her  on  any 
pretext  whenever  Wain  came  near,  —  she  would 
seek  her  own  room  and  lock  the  door.  She  preferred 
not  to  offend  Wain ;  she  was  far  away  from  home 
and  in  a  measure  in  his  power,  but  she  dreaded  his 
compliments  and  sickened  at  his  smile.  She  was 
also  compelled  to  hear  his  relations  sing  his  praises. 

"  My  son  Jeff,"  old  Mrs.  Wain  would  say,  "  is 
de  bes'  man  you  ever  seed.     His  fus'  wife  had  de 


248       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

easies'  time  an'  cle  happies'  time  er  ary  woman  in 
dis  settlement.  He  's  gi^eve'  f er  her  a  long  time,  but 
I  reckon  he  's  gittin'  over  it,  an'  cle  nex'  'oman  w'at 
marries  him  '11  git  a  box  er  pyo'  gol',  ef  I  does  say 
it  as  is  his  own  mammy." 

Rena  had  thought  Wain  rather  harsh  with  his 
household,  except  in  her  immediate  presence.  His 
mother  and  sister  seemed  more  or  less  afraid  of 
him,  and  the  children  often  anxious  to  avoid  him. 

One  day,  he  timed  his  visit  to  the  schoolhouse 
so  as  to  walk  home  with  Rena  through  the  woods. 
When  she  became  aware  of  his  purpose,  she  called 
to  one  of  the  children  who  was  loitering  behind  the 
others,  "  Wait  a  minute,  Jenny.  .  I  'm  going  your 
way,  and  you  can  walk  along  with  me." 

Wain  with  difficulty  hid  a  scowl  behind  a  smil- 
ing front.  When  they  had  gone  a  little  distance 
along  the  road  through  the  woods,  he  clapped  his 
hand  upon  his  pocket. 

"  I  declare  ter  goodness,"  he  exclaimed,  "  ef  I 
ain't  dropped  my  pocket-knife !  I  thought  I  felt 
somethin'  slip  th'ough  dat  hole  in  my  pocket  jes' 
by  the  big  pine  stump  in  the  schoolhouse  ya'd. 
Jinny,  chile,  run  back  an'  hunt  fer  my  knife,  an' 
I  '11  give  yer  five  cents  ef  yer  find  it.  Me  an' 
Miss  Rena  '11  walk  on  slow  'tel  you  ketches  us." 

Rena  did  not  dare  to  object,  though  she  was  afraid 
to  be  alone  with  this  man.  If  she  could  have  had 
a  moment  to  think,  she  would  have  volunteered  to 
go  back  with  Jenny  and  look  for  the  knife,  which, 
although  a  palpable  subterfuge  on  her  part,  would 


A 


THE  LOST  KNIFE  249 

have  been  one  to  wliicli  Wain  could  not  object ; 
but  the  child,  dazzled  by  the  prospect  of  reward, 
had  darted  back  so  quickly  that  this  way  of  escape 
was  cut  off.  She  was  evidently  in  for  a  declara- 
tion of  love,  which  she  had  taken  infinite  pains  to 
avoid.  Just  the  form  it  would  assume,  she  could 
not  foresee.  She  was  not  long  left  in  suspense. 
No  sooner  was  the  child  well  out  of  si^ht  than 
Wain  threw  his  arms  suddenly  about  her  waist 
and  smilingly  attempted  to  kiss  her. 

Speechless  with  fear  and  indignation,  she  tore 
herself  from  his  grasp  with  totally  unexpected 
force,  and  fled  incontinently  along  the  forest  j)ath. 
Wain  —  who,  to  do  him  justice,  had  merely  meant 
to  declare  his  passion  in  what  he  had  hoped  might 
prove  a  not  unacceptable  fashion  —  followed  in 
some  alarm,  expostulating  and  aj^ologizing  as  he 
went.  But  he  was  heavy  and  Rena  was  light,  and 
fear  lent  wings  to  her  feet.  He  followed  her  until 
he  saw  her  enter  the  house  of  Elder  Johnson,  the 
father  of  several  of  her  pupils,  after  which  he 
sneaked  uneasily  homeward,  somewhat  apprehen- 
sive of  the  consequences  of  his  abrupt  wooing, 
which  was  evidently  open  to  an  unfavorable  con- 
struction. When,  an  hour  later,  Rena  sent  one  of 
the  Johnson  children  for  some  of  her  things,  with 
a  message  explaining  that  the  teacher  had  been 
invited  to  spend  a  few  days  at  Elder  Johnson's, 
Wain  felt  a  pronounced  measure  of  relief.  For  an 
hour  he  had  even  thought  it  might  be  better  to 
relinquish  his  pursuit.     With  a  fatuousness  born  of 


250       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

vanity,  however,  no  sooner  had  she  sent  her  excuse 
than  he  began  to  look  upon  her  visit  to  Johnson's  as 
a  mere  exliibition  of  coyness,  which,  together  with 
her  conduct  in  the  woods,  was  merely  intended  to 
lure  him  on. 

Right  upon  the  heels  of  the  perturbation  caused 
by  Wain's  conduct,  Rena  discovered  that  Tryon 
lived  in  the  neighborhood  ;  that  not  only  might  she 
meet  him  any  day  upon  the  highway,  but  that  he 
had  actually  driven  by  the  schoolhouse.  That  he 
knew  or  would  know  of  her  proximity  there  could 
be  no  possible  doubt,  since  she  had  freely  told  his 
mother  her  name  and  her  home.  A  hot  wave  of 
shame  swept  over  her  at  the  thought  that  George 
Tryon  might  imagine  she  were  following  him,  throw- 
ing herself  in  his  way,  and  at  the  thought  of  the 
construction  which  he  might  place  upon  her  actions. 
Caught  thus  between  two  emotional  fires,  at  the 
very  time  when  her  school  duties,  owing  to  the 
approaching  exhibition,  demanded  all  her  energies, 
Rena  was  subjected  to  a  physical  and  mental  strain 
that  only  youth  and  health  could  have  resisted,  and 
then  only  for  a  short  time. 


XXIX 

PLATO  EARNS  HALF  A  DOLLAR 

Tryon's  first  feeling,  when  Ms  mother  at  the 
dinner-table  gave  an  account  of  her  visit  to  the 
schoolliouse  in  the  woods,  was  one  of  extreme  an- 
noyance. Why,  of  all  created  beings,  shoidd  this 
particular  woman  be  chosen  to  teach  the  colored 
school  at  Sandy  Run  ?  Had  she  learned  that  he 
lived  in  the  neighborhood,  and  had  she  sought  the 
place  hoping  that  he  might  consent  to  renew,  on 
different  terms,  relations  which  could  never  be  re- 
•sumed  upon  their  former  footing  ?  Six  weeks  before, 
he  would  not  have  believed  her  capable  of  following 
him ;  but  his  last  visit  to  Patesville  had  revealed  her 
character  in  such  a  light  that  it  was  difficult  to  pre- 
dict what  she  might  do.  It  was,  however,  no  affair 
of  his.  He  was  done  with  her ;  he  had  dismissed  her 
from  his  own  life,  where  she  had  never  properly 
belonged,  and  he  had  filled  her  place,  or  would  soon 
fin  it,  with  another  and  worthier  woman.  Even 
his  mother,  a  woman  of  keen  discernment  and 
delicate  intuitions,  had  been  deceived  by  this  girl's 
specious  exterior.  She  had  brought  away  from  her 
interview  of  the  morning  the  impression  that  Rena 
was  a  fine,  pure  spirit,  born  out  of  place,  through 


252       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

some  freak  o£  Fate,  devoting  herself  with  heroic 
self-sacrifice  to  a  noble  cause.  Well,  he  had 
imagined  her  just  as  pure  and  fine,  and  she  had 
deliberately,  with  a  negro's  low  cunnings  deceived 
him  into  believing  that  she  was  a  white  girl.  The 
pretended  confession  of  the  brother,  in  which  he 
had  spoken  of  the  humble  origin  of  the  family,  had 
been,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  the  most  disin- 
genuous feature  of  the  whole  miserable  perform- 
ance. They  had  tried  by  a  show  of  frankness  to 
satisfy  their  own  consciences,  —  they  doubtless  had 
enough  of  white  blood  to  give  them  a  rudimentary 
trace  of  such  a  moral  organ,  —  and  by  the  same 
act  to  disarm  him  against  future  recriminations,  in 
the  event  of  possible  discovery.  How  was  he  to 
imagine  that  persons  of  their  appearance  and  pre- 
tensions were  tainted  with  negTO  blood  ?  The  more 
he  dwelt  upon  the  subject,  the  more  angry  he  be- 
came with  those  who  had  surprised  his  virgin  heart 
and  deflowered  it  by  such  low  trickery.  The  man 
who  brought  the  first  negro  into  the  British  colonies 
had  committed  a  crime  against  humanity  and  a 
worse  crime  against  liis  own  race.  The  father  of 
this  girl  had  been  guilty  of  a  sin  against  society 
for  which  others  —  for  which  he,  George  Tryon  — 
must  pay  the  penalty.  As  slaves,  negroes  were  tol- 
erable. As  freemen,  they  were  an  excrescence,  an 
alien  element  incapable  of  absorption  into  the  body 
politic  of  white  men.  He  would  like  to  send  them 
all  back  to  the  Africa  from  which  their  forefathers 
had  come,  —  unwillingly  enough,  he  would  admit, 


PLATO  EARNS  HALF  A  DOLLAR         253 

—  and  he  would  like  especially  to  banish  this  girl 
from  his  own  neighborhood  ;  not  indeed  that  her 
presence  would  make  any  difference  to  him,  except 
as  a  humiliating  reminder  of  his  own  folly  and 
weakness  with  which  he  could  very  well  dispense. 

Of  this  state  of  mind  Tryon  gave  no  visible 
manifestation  beyond  a  certain  taciturnity,  so 
much  at  variance  with  his  recent  liveliness  that  the 
ladies  could  not  fail  to  notice  it.  No  effort  upon 
the  part  of  either  was  able  to  affect  his  mood,  and 
they  both  resigned  themselves  to  await  his  lord- 
ship's pleasure  to  be  companionable. 

For  a  day  or  two,  Tryon  sedulously  kept  away 
from  the  neighborhood  of  the  schoolhouse  at 
Sandy  Run.  He  really  had  business  which  would 
have  taken  him  in  that  direction,  but  made  a  de- 
tour of  five  miles  rather  than  go  near  his  aban- 
doned and  discredited  sweetheart. 

But  George  Tryon  was  wisely  distrustful  of  his 
own  impulses.  Driving  one  day  along  the  road  to 
Clinton,  he  overhauled  a  diminutive  black  figure 
trudging  along  the  road,  occasionally  turning  a 
handspring  by  way  of  diversion. 

"  Hello,  Plato,"  called  Tryon,  "  do  you  want  a 
lift  ?  " 

"  Hoddy,  Mars  Geo'ge.     Kin  I  ride  wid  you  ?  " 

"  Jump  up." 

Plato  mounted  into  the  buggy  with  the  agility 
to  be  expected  from  a  lad  of  his  acrobatic  accom- 
plishments. The  two  almost  immediately  fell  into 
conversation  upon  perhaps    the    only    subject   of 


254       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

common  interest  between  them.  Before  the  town 
was  reached,  Tryon  knew,  so  far  as  Plato  could 
make  it  plain,  the  estimation  in  which  the  teacher 
was  held  by  pupils  and  parents.  He  had  learned 
the  hours  of  opening  and  dismissal  of  the  school, 
where  the  teacher  lived,  her  habits  of  coming  to 
and  going  from  the  schoolhouse,  and  the  road  she 
always  followed. 

"  Does  she  go  to  church  or  anywhere  else  with 
Jeff  Wain,  Plato  ?  "  asked  Tryon. 

"  No,  suh,  she  don'  go  nowhar  wid  nobody  ex- 
cep'n'  ole  Elder  Johnson  er  Mis'  Johnson,  an'  de 
child'en.  She  use'  ter  stop  at  Mis'  Wain's,  but 
she  's  stayin'  wid  Elder  Johnson  now.  She  alluz 
makes  some  er  de  child'en  go  home  wid  er  f'm 
school,"  said  Plato,  proud  to  find  in  Mars  Geo'ge 
an  appreciative  listener,  —  "  sometimes  one  an' 
sometimes  anudder.  I 's  be'n  home  wid  'er  twice, 
an'  it  'U  be  my  tu'n  ag'in  befo'  long." 

"  Plato,"  remarked  Tryon  impressively,  as  they 
drove  into  the  town,  "  do  you  think  you  could 
keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Yas,  Mars  Geo'ge,  ef  you  says  I  skill. " 

"Do  you  see  this  fifty-cent  piece?"  Tryon 
displayed  a  small  piece  of  paper  money,  crisp  and 
green  in  its  newness. 

"  Yas,  Mars  Geo'ge,"  replied  Plato,  fixing  his 
eyes  respectfully  on  the  government's  promise  to 
pay.  Fifty  cents  was  a  large  sum  of  money.  His 
acquaintance  with  Mars  Geo'ge  gave  him  tlie  privi- 
lege of  looking  at  money.     When  he  grew  up,  he 


PLATO  EARNS  HALF  A  DOLLAR         255 

would  be  able,  in  good  times,  to  earn  fifty  cents  a 
day. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  this  to  you,  Plato." 

Plato's  eyes  opened  wide  as  saucers.  "Me, 
Mars  Geo'ofe?  "  he  asked  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  Plato.  I  'm  going  to  write  a  letter  while 
I'm  in  town,  and  want  you  to  take  it.  Meet  me 
here  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  '11  give  you  the  letter. 
Meantime,  keep  your  mouth  shut." 

"  Yas,  Mars  Geo'ge,"  rephed  Plato  with  a  grin 
that  distended  that  organ  unduly.  That  he  did 
not  keep  it  shut  may  be  inferred  fi'om  the  fact  that 
within  the  next  half  hour  he  had  eaten  and  drunk 
fifty  cents'  worth  of  candy,  ginger-pop,  and  other 
available  delicacies  that  appealed  to  the  youtliful 
palate.  Having  nothing  more  to  spend,  and  the 
high  prices  prevailing  for  some  time  after  the  war 
having  left  him  capable  of  locomotion,  Plato 
was  promptly  on  hand  at  the  appointed  time  and 
place. 

Try  on  placed  a  letter  in  Plato's  hand,  still  sticky 
with  molasses  candy,  —  he  had  inclosed  it  in  a 
second  cover  by  way  of  protection.  "  Give  that 
letter,"  he  said,  "to  your  teacher;  don't  say  a 
word  about  it  to  a  living  soul;  bring  me  an  an- 
swer, and  give  it  into  my  own  hand,  and  you  shall 
have  another  half  dollar." 

Tryon  was  quite  aware  that  by  a  surreptitious 
correspondence  he  ran  some  risk  of  compromising 
Rena.  But  he  had  felt,  as  soon  as  he  had  in- 
dulged his  first  opportunity  to  talk  of  her,  an  irre- 


256       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

sistible  impulse  to  see  her  and  speak  to  her  again. 
He  could  scarcely  call  at  her  boarding-place,  — 
what  possible  proper  excuse  could  a  young  white 
man  have  for  visiting  a  colored  woman  ?  At  the 
schoolhouse  she  would  be  surrounded  by  her  pupils, 
and  a  private  interview  would  be  as  difficult,  with 
more  eyes  to  remark  and  more  tongues  to  com- 
ment upon  it.  He  might  address  her  by  mail,  but 
did  not  know  how  often  she  sent  to  the  nearest 
post-office.  A  letter  mailed  in  the  town  must  pass 
through  the  hands  of  a  postmaster  notoriously  in- 
quisitive and  evil-minded,  who  was  familiar  with 
Try  on' s  handwriting  and  had  ample  time  to  attend 
to  other  people's  business.  To  meet  the  teacher 
alone  on  the  road  seemed  scarcely  feasible,  accord- 
ing to  Plato's  statement.  A  messenger,  then,  was 
not  only  the  least  of  several  evils,  but  really  the 

.  only  practicable  way  to  communicate  with  Rena. 

'  He  thought  he  could  trust  Plato,  though  miserably 
aware  that  he  could  not  trust  himself  where  this 
girl  was  concerned. 

The  letter  handed  by  Try  on  to  Plato,  and  by 
the  latter  delivered  with  due  secrecy  and  precau- 
tion, ran  as  follows  :  — 

Dear  Miss  Warwick,  —  You  may  think  it 
strange  that  I  should  address  you  after  what  has 
passed  between  us ;  but  learning  from  my  mother 
of  your  presence  in  the  neighborhood,  I  am  con- 
strained to  believe  that  you  do  not  find  my  prox- 
imity embarrassing,  and  I  cannot  resist  the  wish 


FLATO  EARNS  HALF  A  DOLLAR  257 

to  meet  you  at  least  once  more,  and  talk  over  tlie 
circumstances  of  our  former  fi'iendship.  From  a 
practical  point  of  view  this  may  seem  superfluous, 
as  the  matter  has  been  definitely  settled.  I  have 
no  desire  to  find  fault  ^viih  you  ;  on  the  contrary, 
I  wish  to  set  myself  right  with  regard  to  my  own 
actions,  and  to  assure  you  of  my  good  wishes.  In 
other  words,  since  we  must  part,  I  would  rather  we 
parted  friends  than  enemies.  If  nature  and  society 
—  or  Fate,  to  put  it  another  way  —  have  decreed 
that  we  cannot  live  together,  it  is  nevertheless 
possible  that  we  may  carry  into  the  future  a  plea- 
sant though  somewhat  sad  memory  of  a  past  friend- 
ship. Will  you  not  grant  me  one  interview?  I 
appreciate  the  difficulty  of  arranging  it ;  I  have 
found  it  almost  as  hard  to  communicate  with  you 
by  letter.  I  will  suit  myself  to  your  convenience 
and  meet  you  at  any  time  and  place  you  may  desig- 
nate. Please  answer  by  bearer,  who  I  think  is 
trustworthy,  and  believe  me,  whatever  your  an- 
swer may  be, 

Respectfully  yours, 

G.   T. 

The  next  day  but  one  Tryon  received  through 
the  mail  the  following  reply  to  his  letter :  — 

George  Tryon,  Esq. 

Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  requested  your  messenger 
to  say  that  I  will  answer  your  letter  by  mail,  which 
I   shall   now  proceed  to  do.     I   assure  you  that 


258       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

I  was  entirely  ignorant  of  your  residence  in  this 
neighborhood,  or  it  would  have  been  the  last  place 
on  earth  in  which  I  should  have  set  foot. 

As  to  our  past  relations,  they  were  ended  by 
your  o^vn  act.  I  frankly  confess  that  I  deceived 
you ;  I  have  paid  the  penalty,  and  have  no  com- 
plaint to  make.  I  appreciate  the  delicacy  which 
has  made  you  respect  my  brother's  secret,  and 
thank  you  for  it.  I  remember  the  whole  affair 
with  shame  and  humiliation,  and  would  willingly 
forget  it. 

As  to  a  future  interview,  I  do  not  see  what 
good  it  would  do  either  of  us.  You  are  white,  and 
you  have  given  me  to  understand  that  I  am  black. 
I  accept  the  classification,  however  unfair,  and  the 
consequences,  however  unjust,  one  of  which  is  that 
we  cannot  meet  in  the  same  parlor,  in  the  same 
church,  at  the  same  table,  or  anywhere,  in  social 
intercourse ;  upon  a  steamboat  we  would  not  sit  at 
the  same  table ;  we  could  not  walk  together  on  the 
street,  or  meet  publicly  anywhere  and  converse, 
without  unkind  remark.  As  a  white  man,  this 
might  not  mean  a  great  deal  to  you ;  as  a  woman, 
shut  out  already  by  my  color  from  much  that 
is  desirable,  my  good  name  remains  my  most  valu- 
able possession.  I  beg  of  you  to  let  me  alone. 
The  best  possible  proof  you  can  give  me  of  your 
good  wishes  is  to  relinquish  any  desire  or  attempt 
to  see  me.  1  shall  have  finished  my  work  here  in 
a  few  days.  I  have  other  troubles,  of  wliich  you 
know  nothing,  and  any  meeting  with  you  woidd 


PLATO  EARNS  HALF  A  DOLLAR  259 

only  add  to  a  burden  which  is  already  as  much  as 
I  can  bear.  To  speak  of  parting  is  superfluous  — 
we  have  already  parted.  It  were  idle  to  dream  of 
a  future  friendship  between  people  so  widely  dif- 
ferent in  station.  Such  a  relation,  if  possible 
in  itself,  would  never  be  tolerated  by  the  lady 
whom  you  are  to  marry,  with  whom  you  drove  by 
my  schoolhouse  the  other  day.  A  gentleman  so 
loyal  to  his  race  and  its  traditions  as  you  have 
shown  yourself  could  not  be  less  faitliful  to  the 
lady  to  whom  he  has  lost  his  heart  and  his  memory 
in  three  short  months. 

No,  Mr.  Tryon,  our  romance  is  ended,  and  bet- 
ter so.  We  could  never  have  been  happy.  I  have 
found  a  work  in  which  I  may  be  of  service  to 
others  who  have  fewer  opportunities  than  mine 
have  been.  Leave  me  in  peace,  I  beseech  you, 
and  I  shall  soon  pass  out  of  your  neighborhood  as 
I  have  passed  out  of  your  life,  and  hope  to  pass 
out  of  your  memory. 

Yours  very  tridy, 

EOWEKA   WaLDEN. 


XXX 

AN   UNUSUAL  HONOR 

To  Rena's  high-strung  and  sensitive  nature, 
ab*eady  under  very  great  tension  from  her  past 
experience,  the  ordeal  of  the  next  few  days  was  a 
severe  one.  On  the  one  hand,  Jeff  Wain's  infatu- 
ation had  rajjidly  increased,  in  view  of  her  speedy 
departure.  From  Mrs.  Tryon's  remark  about 
Wain's  wife  Amanda,  and  from  things  Rena  had 
since  learned,  she  had  every  reason  to  beheve  that 
this  wife  was  living,  and  that  Wain  must  be  aware 
of  the  fact.  In  the  light  of  this  loiowledge.  Wain's 
former  conduct  took  on  a  blacker  significance  than, 
upon  reflection,  she  had  charitably  clothed  it  wdth 
after  the  first  flush  of  indignation.  That  he  had 
not  given  up  his  design  to  make  love  to  her  was 
quite  apparent,  and,  with  Amanda  alive,  his  atten- 
tions, always  offensive  since  she  had  gathered  their 
import,  became  in  her  eyes  the  expression  of  a 
villainous  purpose,  of  which  she  could  not  speak  to 
others,  and  from  which  she  felt  safe  only  so  long 
as  she  took  proper  precautions  against  it.  In  a 
week  her  school  would  be  over,  and  then  she  would 
get  Elder  Johnson,  or  some  one  else  than  Wain, 
to  take  her  back  to  Patesville.     True,  she  might 


AN  UNUSUAL  HONOR  261 

abandon  her  school  and  go  at  once ;  but  her  work 
would  be  incomplete,  she  would  have  violated  her 
contract,  she  would  lose  her  salary  for  the  month, 
explanations  would  be  necessary,  and  would  not  be 
forthcoming,  She  might  feign  sickness,  —  indeed, 
it  would  scarcely  be  feigning,  for  she  felt  far  from 
well;  she  had  never,  since  her  illness,  quite  re- 
covered her  former  vigor  —  but  the  inconvenience 
to  others  woidd  be  the  same,  and  her  self-sacrifice 
would  have  had,  at  its  very  first  trial,  a  lame  and 
impotent  conclusion.  She  had  as  yet  no  fear  of 
personal  violence  fi^om  Wain ;  but,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, his  attentions  were  an  insult.  He  was 
e\"idently  bent  upon  conquest,  and  vain  enough  to 
think  he  might  achieve  it  by  "\drtue  of  his  per- 
sonal attractions.  If  he  coidd  have  understood 
how  she  loathed  the  sight  of  his  narrow  eyes,  with 
their  puffy  lids,  his  thick,  tobacco-stained  lips,  his 
doubtful  teeth,  and  his  unwieldy  person.  Wain, 
a  monument  of  conceit  that  he  was,  might  have 
shrunk,  even  in  his  own  estimation,  to  something 
like  his  real  proportions.  Rena  befieved  that,  to 
defend  herself  from  persecution  at  his  hands,  it 
was  only  necessary  that  she  never  let  him  find  her 
alone.  This,  however,  required  constant  watch- 
fulness. Relying  upon  his  o^ti  powers,  and  upon 
a  woman's  weakness  and  aversion  to  scandal,  from 
which  not  even  the  purest  may  always  escape 
unscathed,  and  con^anced  by  her  former  silence 
that  he  had  nothing  serious  to  fear.  Wain  made  it 
a  point  to  be  present  at  every  public  place  where 


262       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

she  miglit  be.  He  assumed,  in  conversation  with 
her  which  she  could  not  avoid,  and  stated  to 
others,  that  she  had  left  his  house  because  of  a 
previous  promise  to  divide  the  time  of  her  stay- 
between  Elder  Johnson's  house  and  his  own.  He 
volunteered  to  teach  a  class  in  the  Sunday-school 
which  Rena  conducted  at  the  colored  Methodist 
church,  and  when  she  remained  to  service,  occu- 
pied a  seat  conspicuously  near  her  own.  In  addi- 
tion to  these  public  demonstrations,  which  it  was 
impossible  to  escape,  or,  it  seemed,  with  so  thick- 
skinned  an  individual  as  Wain,  even  to  discoui'age, 
she  was  secretly  and  uncomfortably  conscious  that 
she  could  scarcely  stir  abroad  without  the  risk  of 
encountering  one  of  two  men,  each  of  whom  was 
on   the   lookout   for  an  opportunity  to   find   her 

i|  alone. 

The  knowledge  of  Tryon's  presence  in  the 
vicinity  had  been  almost  as  much  as  Rena  could 
bear.  To  it  must  be  added  the  consciousness  that 
he,  too,  was  pursuing  her,  to  what  end  she  could 
not  tell.  After  his  letter  to  her  brother,  and  the 
feehng  therein  displayed,  she  found  it  necessary  to 

'  crush  once  or  twice  a  wild  hope  that,  her  secret 
being  still  unknown  save  to  a  friendly  few,  he  might 
return  and  claim  her.  Now,  such  an  outcome 
would  be  impossible.  He  had  become  engaged  to 
another  woman,  —  this  in  itself  would  be  enough 
to  keep  him  from  her,  if  it  were  not  an  index  of 
a  vastly  more  serious  barrier,  a  proof  that  he  had 
never  loved  her.     If  he  had  loved  her  truly,  he 


AN   UNUSUAL  HONOR  263 

would  never  have  forgotten  her  in  three  short 
months,  —  three  long  months  they  had  heretofore 
seemed  to  her,  for  in  them  she  had  lived  a  lifetime 
of  experience.  Another  impassable  barrier  lay  in 
the  fact  that  his  mother  had  met  her,  and  that  she 
was  knoTVTi  in  the  neighborhood.  Thus  cut  off 
from  any  hope  that  she  might  be  anything  to 
him,  she  had  no  wish  to  meet  her  former  lover  ; 
no  possible  good  could  come  of  such  a  meeting  ; 
and  yet  her  fluttering  heart  told  her  that  if  he 
shoidd  come,  as  his  letter  foreshadowed  that  he 
might,  —  if  he  should  come,  the  loving  George  of 
old,  with  soft  words  and  tender  smiles  and  spe- 
cious talk  of  friendship  —  ah  !  then,  her  heart 
would  break  I  She  must  not  meet  him  —  at  any 
cost  she  must  avoid  him. 

But  this  heaping  up  of  cares  strained  her  endur- 
ance to  the  breaking-point.  Toward  the  middle  of 
the  last  week,  she  knew  that  she  had  almost  reached 
the  limit,  and  was  haunted  by  a  fear  that  she 
might  break  down  before  the  week  was  over.  Now 
her  really  fine  nature  rose  to  the  emergency,  though 
she  mustered  her  forces  with  a  great  effort.  If  she 
could  keep  Wain  at  his  distance  and  avoid  Tryon 
for  three  days  longer,  her  school  labors  would  be 
ended  and  she  might  retire  in  j^eace  and  honor. 

"Miss  Rena,"  said  Plato  to  her  on  Tuesday, 
"  ain't  it  'bout  time  I  wuz  gwine  home  wid  you 
ag  m  : 

"  You  may  go  with  me  to-morrow,  Plato," 
answered  the  teacher. 


264       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

After  school  Plato  met  an  anxious-eyed  young 
man  in  the  woods  a  short  distance  from  the  school- 
house. 

"  Well,  Plato,  what  news  ?  " 

"  I 's  gwine  ter  see  her  home  ter-morrer,  Mars 
Geo'ge." 

"  To-morrow  !  "  replied  Tryon ;  "  how  very  un- 
fortunate !  I  wanted  you  to  go  to  town  to-morrow 
to  take  an  important  message  for  me.  I  'm  sorry, 
Plato  —  you  might  have  earned  another  dollar." 

To  lie  is  a  disgraceful  thing,  and  yet  there  are 
times  when,  to  a  lover's  mind,  love  dwarfs  all 
ordinary  laws.  Plato  scratched  his  head  discon- 
solately, but  suddenly  a  bright  thought  struck  him. 

"  Can't  I  go  ter  town  fer  you  atter  I  've  seed  her 
home.  Mars  Geo'ge?" 

"  N-o,  I  'm  afraid  it  would  be  too  late,"  re- 
turned Tryon  doubtfully. 

"  Den  I  '11  haf  ter  ax  'er  ter  lemme  go  nex'  day," 
said  Plato,  with  resignation.  The  honor  might  be 
postponed  or,  if  necessary,  foregone ;  the  oppor- 
tunity to  earn  a  dollar  was  the  chance  of  a  lifetime 
and  must  not  be  "allowed  to  slip. 

"  No,  Plato,"  rejoined  Tryon,  shaking  his  head, 
"  I  should  n't  want  to  deprive  you  of  so  great  a 
pleasure."  Tryon  was  entirely  sincere  in  this 
characterization  of  Plato's  chance ;  he  would  have 
given  many  a  dollar  to  be  sure  of  Plato's  place  and 
Plato's  welcome.  Rena's  letter  had  re-inflamed  his 
smouldering  passion ;  only  opposition  was  needed 
to  fan  it  to  a  white  heat.     Wherein  lay  the  great 


AN  UNUSUAL  HONOR  265 

superiority  of  liis  position,  if  lie  was  denied  the 
right  to  speak  to  the  one  person  in  the  world  whom 
he  most  cared  to  address?  He  felt  some  dim 
realization  of  the  tyranny  of  caste,  when  he  found 
it  not  merely  pressing  upon  an  inferior  people  who 
had  no  right  to  expect  anything  better,  but  barring 
his  own  way  to  something  that  he  desired.  He 
meant  her  no  harm — but  he  must  see  her.  He 
could  never  marry  her  now  —  but  he  must  see  her. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  certain  relief  at  the  thought 
that  he  had  not  asked  Blanche  Leary  to  be  his 
wife.  His  hand  was  unpledged.  He  could  not 
marry  the  other  girl,  of  course,  but  they  must  meet 
again.  The  rest  he  would  leave  to  Fate,  which 
seemed  reluctant  to  disentangle  thi-eads  wliich  it 
had  woven  so  closely. 

"  I  think,  Plato,  that  I  see  an  easier  way  out  of 
the  difficulty.  Your  teacher,  I  imagine,  merely 
wants  some  one  to  see  her  safely  home.  Don't 
you  think,  if  you  should  go  part  of  the  way,  that 
I  might  take  your  place  for  the  rest,  while  you  did 
my  errand  ?  " 

"  Why,  sho'ly,  Mars  Geo'ge,  you  could  take  keer 
er  her  better  'n  I  could  —  better  'n  anybody  could 
—  co'se  you  could !  " 

Mars  Geo'ge  was  white  and  rich,  and  could  do 
anything.  Plato  was  proud  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  once  belonged  to  Mars  Geo'ge.  He  could 
not  conceive  of  any  one  so  powerful  as  Mars 
Geo'ge,  unless  it  might  be  God,  of  whom  Plato 
had  heard  more  or  less,  and  even  here  the  com- 


266       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

parison  might  not  be  quite  fair  to  Mars  Geo'ge, 
for  Mars  Geo'ge  was  the  younger  of  the  two.  It 
would  undoubtedly  be  a  great  honor  for  the  teacher 
to  be  escorted  home  by  Mars  Geo'ge.  The  teacher 
was  a  great  woman,  no  doubt,  and  looked  white ; 
but  Mars  Geo'ge  was  the  real  article.  Mars 
Geo'ge  had  never  been  known  to  go  with  a  black 
woman  before,  and  the  teacher  would  doubtless 
thank  Plato  for  arranging  that  so  great  an  honor 
should  fall  upon  her.  Mars  Ge'oge  had  given  him 
fifty  cents  twice,  and  would  now  give  him  a  dollar. 
Noble  Mars  Geo'ge  !  Fortunate  teacher !  Haj^py 
Plato  ! 

"  Very  well,  Plato.  I  think  we  can  arrange  it 
so  that  you  can  kiU  the  two  rabbits  at  one  shot. 
Suppose  that  we  go  over  the  road  that  she  will 
take  to  go  home." 

They  soon  arrived  at  the  schoolhouse.  School 
had  been  out  an  hour,  and  the  clearing  was  de- 
serted. Plato  led  the  way  by  the  road  through 
the  woods  to  a  point  where,  amid  somewhat  thick 
underbrush,  another  path  intersected  the  road  they 
were  following. 

"  Now,  Plato,"  said  Tryon,  pausing  here,  "  this 
would  be  a  good  spot  for  you  to  leave  the  teacher 
and  for  me  to  take  your  place.  This  path  leads 
to  the  main  road,  and  will  take  you  to  town  very 
quickly.  I  should  n't  say  anything  to  the  teacher 
about  it  at  all ;  but  when  you  and  she  get  here, 
drop  behind  and  run  along  this  path  until  you 
meet  me,  —  I  '11  be  waiting  a  few  yards  down  the 


AN  UNUSUAL  HONOR  267 

road,  —  and  then  run  to  town  as  fast  as  your  legs 
will  carry  you.  As  soon  as  you  are  gone,  I  '11 
come  out  and  tell  the  teacher  that  I  've  sent  vou 
away  on  an  errand,  and  will  myself  take  your 
place.  You  shall  have  a  dollar,  and  I  '11  ask  her 
to  let  you  go  home  with  her  the  next  day.  But 
you  must  n't  say  a  word  about  it,  Plato,  or  you 
won't  get  the  dollar,  and  I  '11  not  ask  the  teacher 
to  let  you  go  home  with  her  again." 

"  All  right,  Mars  Geo'ge,  I  ain't  gwine  ter  say 
no  mo'  d'n  ef  de  cat  had  my  tongue." 


XXXI 

IN   DEEP   WATERS 

Rena  was  unusually  fatigued  at  the  close  of  lier 
school  on  Wednesday  afternoon.  She  had  been 
troubled  all  day  with  a  headache,  which,  beginning 
with  a  dull  pain,  had  gradually  increased  in  inten- 
sity until  every  nerve  was  throbbing  like  a  trip- 
hammer. The  pupils  seemed  unusually  stupid.  A 
discouraging  sense  of  the  insignificance  of  any  part 
she  could  perform  towards  the  education  of  three 
million  people  with  a  school  term  of  two  months 
a  year  hung  over  her  spirit  like  a  pall.  As  the 
object  of  Wain's  attentions,  she  had  begun  to  feel 
somewhat  like  a  wild  creature  who  hears  the  pur- 
suers on  its  track,  and  has  the  fear  of  capture 
added  to  the  fatigue  of  flight.  But  when  this  ex- 
citement had  gone  too  far  and  had  neared  the  limit 
of  exhaustion  came  Tryon's  letter,  with  the  result- 
ing surprise  and  consternation.  Rena  had  keyed 
herself  up  to  a  heroic  pitch  to  answer  it ;  but  when 
the  inevitable  reaction  came,  she  was  overwhelmed 
with  a  sickening  sense  of  her  own  weakness.  The 
things  which  in  another  sphere  had  constituted  her 
strength  and  shield  were  now  her  undoing,  and 
exposed  her  to  dangers  from  which  they  lent  her 
no  protection.     Not  only  was  this  her  position  in 


IN  DEEP  WATERS  269 

theory,  but  the  pursuers  were  already  at  her  heels. 
As  the  day  wore  on,  these  dark  thoughts  took  on 
an  added  gloom,  until,  when  the  hour  to  dismiss 
school  arrived,  she  felt  as  though  she  had  not  a 
friend  in  the  world.  This  feeling  was  accentu- 
ated by  a  letter  which  she  had  that  morning 
received  from  her  mother,  in  which  Mis'  Molly 
spoke  very  highly  of  Wain,  and  plainly  expressed 
the  hope  that  her  daughter  might  like  him  so  well 
that  she  would  prefer  to  remain  in  Sampson 
County. 

Plato,  bright-eyed  and  alert,  was  waiting  in  the 
school-yard  until  the  teacher  should  be  ready  to 
start.  Having  warned  away  several  smaller  chil- 
dren who  had  hung  around  after  school  as  though 
to  share  his  prerogative  of  accompanying  the 
teacher,  Plato  had  swung  himself  into  the  low 
branches  of  an  oak  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing, 
from  which  he  was  hanging  by  his  legs,  head  down- 
ward. He  dropped  from  this  reposefid  attitude 
when  the  teacher  appeared  at  the  door,  and  took 
his  place  at  her  side. 

A  premonition  of  impending  trouble  caused  the 
teacher  to  hesitate.  She  ^vdshed  that  she  had  kept 
more  of  the  pupils  behind.  Something  whispered 
that  danger  lurked  in  the  road  she  customarily 
followed.  Plato  seemed  insignificantly  small  and 
weak,  and  she  felt  miserably  unable  to  cope  ^viih 
any  difficult  or  untoward  situation. 

"  Plato,"  she  suggested,  "  I  think  we  '11  go  round 
the  other  way  to-night,  if  you  don't  mind." 


270       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

Visions  of  Mars  Geo'ge  disappointed,  of  a  dol- 
lar unearned  and  unspent,  flitted  thi'ough  tlie  nar- 
row brain  which  some  one,  with  the  irony  of  igno- 
rance or  of  knowledge,  had  mocked  with  the  name 
of  a  gTeat  philosopher.  Plato  was  not  an  untruth- 
ful lad,  but  he  seldom  had  the  opportunity  to  earn 
a  dollar.  His  imagination,  spurred  on  by  the  in- 
stinct of  self-interest,  rose  to  the  emergency. 

"  I 's  feared  you  mought  git  snake-bit  gwine 
roun'  dat  way,  Miss  Kena.  My  brer  Jim  kill't  a 
water-moccasin  down  dere  yistiddy  'bout  ten  feet 
lonp' 


5? 

8* 


Eena  had  a  horror  of  snakes,  with  which  the 
swamp  by  which  the  other  road  ran  was  infested. 
Snakes  were  a  vivid  reality ;  her  presentiment 
was  probably  a  mere  depression  of  spirits  due  to 
her  condition  of  nervous  exhaustion.  A  cloud  had 
come  up  and  threatened  rain,  and  the  wind  was 
rising  ominously.  The  old  way  was  the  shorter ; 
she  wanted  above  all  things  to  get  to  Elder  John- 
son's and  go  to  bed.  Perhaps  sleep  would  rest 
her  tired  brain  —  she  could  not  imagine  herself 
feeling  worse,  unless  she  should  break  down  alto- 
gether. 

She  plunged  into  the  path  and  hastened  for- 
ward so  as  to  reach  home  before  the  approaching 
storm.  So  completely  was  she  absorbed  in  her 
own  thoughts  that  she  scarcely  noticed  that  Plato 
himself  seemed  preoccupied.  Instead  of  capering 
along  like  a  playful  kitten  or  puppy,  he  walked  by 
her  side  unusually  silent.     When  they  had  gone  a 


IN  DEEP   WATERS  271 

short  distance  and  were  approaching  a  path  which 
intersected  their  road  at  something  near  a  right 
angle,  the  teacher  missed  Plato.  He  had  dropped 
behind  a  moment  before  ;  now  he  had  disappeared 
entirely.  Her  vague  alarm  of  a  few  moments 
before  returned  with  redoubled  force. 

"  Plato  !  "  she  called ;  "  Plato  I  " 

There  was  no  response,  save  the  soughing  of  the 
wind  through  the  swapng  treetops.  She  stepped 
hastily  forward,  wondering  if  this  were  some  child- 
ish prank.  If  so,  it  was  badly  timed,  and  she 
would  let  Plato  feel  the  weight  of  her  displeasure. 

Her  forward  step  had  brought  her  to  the  jimc- 
tion  of  the  two  paths,  where  she  paused  doubt- 
fully. The  route  she  had  been  following  was  the 
most  direct  way  home,  but  led  for  quite  a  distance 
through  the  forest,  which  she  did  not  care  to 
traverse  alone.  The  intersecting  path  would  soon 
take  her  to  the  main  road,  where  she  might  find 
shelter  or  company,  or  both.  Glancing  around 
again  in  search  of  her  missing  escort,  she  became 
aware  that  a  man  was  approaching  her  from  each 
of  the  two  paths.  In  one  she  recognized  the  eager 
and  excited  face  of  George  Tryon,  flushed  with 
anticipation  of  their  meeting,  and  yet  grave  with 
uncertainty  of  his  reception.  Advancing  confi- 
dently along  the  other  path  she  saw  the  face  of 
Jeff  Wain,  drawn,  as  she  imagined  in  her  anguish, 
with  evil  passions  which  woidd  stop  at  nothing. 

What  should  she  do  ?  There  was  no  sign  of 
Plato  —  for  aught  she  could  see  or  hear  of  him, 


272       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

the  earth  might  have  swallowed  him  up.  Some 
deadly  serpent  might  have  stmig  him.  Some 
wandering  rabbit  might  have  tempted  him  aside. 
Another  thought  struck  her.  Plato  had  been 
very  quiet  —  there  had  been  something  on  his  con- 
science —  perhaps  he  had  betrayed  her !  But  to 
which  of  the  two  men,  and  to  what  end  ? 

The  problem  was  too  much  for  her  overwrought 
brain.  She  turned  and  fled.  A  wiser  instinct 
mio'ht  have  led  her  forward.  In  the  two  conflict- 
ing  dangers  she  might  have  found  safety.  The 
road  after  all  was  a  public  way.  Any  number  of 
persons  might  meet  there  accidentally.  But  she 
saw  only  the  darker  side  of  the  situation.  To 
turn  to  Tryon  for  protection  before  Wain  had  by 
some  overt  act  manifested  the  evil  purpose  which 
she  as  yet  only  suspected  would  be,  she  imagined, 
to  acknowledge  a  previous  secret  acquaintance 
with  Tryon,  thus  placing  her  reputation  at  Wain's 
mercy,  and  to  charge  herself  with  a  burden  of 
obligation  toward  a  man  whom  she  wished  to  avoid 
and  had  refused  to  meet.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
she  should  go  forward  to  meet  Wain,  he  would 
undoubtedly  offer  to  accompany  her  homeward. 
Tryon  would  inevitably  observe  the  meeting,  and 
suppose  it  prearranged.  Not  for  the  world  would 
she  have  him  think  so  —  why  she  should  care 
for  his  opinion,  she  did  not  stop  to  argue.  She 
turned  and  fled,  and  to  avoid  possible  pursuit, 
struck  into  the  underbrush  at  an  angle  which  she 
calculated  would  bring  her  in  a  few  rods  to  an- 


IN  DEEP  WATERS  273 

other  path  which  would  lead  quickly  into  the  main 
road.  She  had  run  only  a  few  yards  when  she 
found  herself  in  the  midst  of  a  clump  of  prickly 
shrubs  and  briars.  Meantime  the  storm  had 
burst ;  the  rain  fell  in  torrents.  Extricating  her- 
self from  the  thorns,  she  pressed  forward,  but  in- 
stead of  coming  out  upon  the  road,  found  herself 
penetrating  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  forest. 

The  storm  increased  in  violence.  The  air  grew 
darker  and  darker.'  It  was  near  evening,  the 
clouds  were  dense,  the  thick  woods  increased  the 
gloom.  Suddenly  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning 
pierced  the  darkness,  followed  by  a  sharp  clap  of 
thunder.  There  was  a  crash  of  falling  timber. 
Terror-stricken,  Rena  flew  forward  through  the 
forest,  the  underbrush  growing  closer  and  closer 
as  she  advanced.  Suddenly  the  earth  gave  way 
beneath  her  feet  and  she  sank  into  a  concealed 
morass.  By  clasping  the  trunk  of  a  neighboring 
sapling  she  extricated  herseK  with  an  effort,  and 
realized  with  a  horrible  certainty  that  she  was 
lost  in  the  swamp. 

Turning,  she  tried  to  retrace  her  steps.  A  flash 
of  lightning  penetrated  the  gloom  around  her,  and 
barring  her  path  she  saw  a  huge  black  snake,  — 
harmless  enough,  in  fact,  but  to  her  excited  im- 
agination frightful  in  appearance.  AYith  a  wild 
shriek  she  turned  again,  staggered  forward  a  few 
yards,  stumbled  over  a  projecting  root,  and  fell 
heavily  to  the  earth. 

When  Rena  had  disappeared  in  the  underbrush, 


274      THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE   CEDARS 

Try  on  and  Wain  had  each  instinctively  set  out  in 
pursuit  of  her,  but  owing  to  the  gathering  dark- 
ness, the  noise  of  the  storm,  and  the  thickness  of 
the  underbrush,  they  missed  not  only  Rena  but 
each  other,  and  neither  was  aware  of  the  other's 
presence  in  the  forest.  Wain  kept  up  the  chase 
until  the  rain  drove  him  to  shelter.  Tryon,  after 
a  few  minutes,  reahzed  that  she  had  fled  to  escape 
him,  and  that  to  pursue  her  would  be  to  defeat 
rather  than  promote  his  pur230se.  He  desisted, 
therefore,  and  returning  to  the  main  road,  stationed 
himself  at  a  point  where  he  could  watch  Elder 
Johnson's  house,  and  having  waited  for  a  while 
without  any  signs  of  Rena,  concluded  that  she  had 
taken  refuge  in  some  friendly  cabin.  Turning 
homeward  disconsolately  as  night  came  on,  he  in- 
tercepted Plato  on  his  way  back  from  town,  and 
pledged  him  to  inviolable  secrecy  so  effectually 
that  Plato,  when  subsequently  questioned,  merely 
answered  that  he  had  stopped  a  moment  to  gather 
some  chinquapins,  and  when  he  had  looked  around 
the  teacher  was  gone. 

Rena  not  appearing  at  supper-time  nor  for  an 
hour  later,  the  elder,  somewhat  anxious,  made  in- 
quiries about  the  neighborhood,  and  finding  his 
guest  at  no  place  where  she  might  be  expected  to 
stop,  became  somewhat  alarmed.  Wain's  house 
was  the  last  to  which  he  went.  He  had  surmised 
that  there  was  some  mystery  connected  with  her 
leaving  Wain's,  but  had  never  been  given  any 
definite  information  about  the  matter.     In  response 


IN  DEEP  WATERS  275 

to  Ms  inquiries,  Wain  expressed  surprise,  but  be- 
trayed a  certain  self-consciousness  which  did  not 
escape  the  elder's  eye.  Returning  home,  he  organ- 
ized a  search-party  from  his  own  family  and  sev- 
eral near  neighbors,  and  set  out  with  dogs  and 
torches  to  scour  the  woods  for  the  missing  teacher. 
A  couple  of  hours  later,  they  found  her  lying 
unconscious  in  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  only  a  few 
rods  from  a  well-defined  path  which  would  soon 
have  led  her  to  the  open  highway.  Strong  arms 
lifted  her  gently  and  bore  her  home.  Mrs.  Jolm- 
son  undressed  her  and  put  her  to  bed,  adminis- 
tering a  homely  remedy,  of  which  whiskey  was 
the  principal  ingredient,  to  counteract  the  effects 
of  the  exposure.  There  was  a  doctor  within  five 
miles,  but  no  one  thought  of  sending  for  him,  nor 
was  it  at  all  likely  that  it  would  have  been  possible 
to  get  him  for  such  a  case  at  such  an  hour. 

Rena's  illness,  however,  was  more  deeply  seated 
than  her  friends  could  imagine.  A  tired  body, 
in  sympathy  with  an  overwrought  brain,  had  left 
her  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  nervous  shock  of 
her  forest  experience.  The  exposure  for  several 
hours  in  her  wet  clothing  to  the  damps  and  miasma 
of  the  swamp  had  brought  on  an  attack  of  brain 
fever.  The  next  morning,  she  was  delirious.  One 
of  the  children  took  word  to  the  schoolhouse  that 
the  teacher  was  sick  and  there  would  be  no  school 
that  day.  A  number  of  curious  and  sympathetic 
people  came  in  from  time  to  time  and  suggested 
various  remedies,  several  of  which  old  Mrs.  John- 


276       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

son,  with  catliolic  impartiality,  administered  to 
the  helpless  teacher,  who  from  delirium  gradually 
sunk  into  a  heavy  stupor  scarcely  distinguishable 
from  sleep.  It  was  predicted  that  she  would 
probably  be  well  in  the  morning  ;  if  not,  it  would 
then  be  time  to  consider  seriously  the  question  of 
sending  for  a  doctor. 


XXXII 

THE   POWER    OF   LOVE 

After  Tryon's  failure  to  obtain  an  interview 
with  Rena  through  Plato's  connivance,  he  decided 
upon  a  different  course  of  procedure.  In  a  few 
days  her  school  term  would  be  finished.  He  was 
not  less  desirous  to  see  her,  was  indeed  as  much 
more  eager  as  opposition  would  be  likely  to  make 
a  very  young  man  who  was  accustomed  to  ha\4ng 
his  own  way,  and  whose  heart,  as  he  had  discovered, 
was  more  deeply  and  permanently  involved  than 
he  had  imagined.  His  present  plan  was  to  wait 
until  the  end  of  the  school ;  then,  when  Rena  went 
to  Clinton  on  the  Saturday  or  Monday  to  draw 
her  salary  for  the  month,  he  woidd  see  her  in  the 
town,  or,  if  necessary,  would  follow  her  to  Pates- 
ville.  No  power  on  earth  should  keep  him  from 
her  long,  but  he  had  no  desire  to  interfere  in  any 
way  with  the  duty  which  she  owed  to  others. 
When  the  school  was  over  and  her  work  com- 
pleted, then  he  would  have  his  innings.  Writing 
letters  was  too  unsatisfactory  a  method  of  commu- 
nication —  he  must  see  her  face  to  face. 

The  first  of  his  three  days  of  waiting  had  passed, 
when,  about  ten  o'clock  on    the  morning  of  the 


278       THE   HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

second  day,  wliich  seemed  very  long  in  prospect, 
while  driving  along  the  road  toward  Clinton,  he 
met  Plato,  with  a  rabbit  trap  in  his  hand. 

"  Well,  Plato,"  he  asked,  "  why  are  you  absent 
from  the  classic  shades  of  the  academy  to-day  ?  " 

"  Hoddy,  Mars  Geo'ge.  Wat  wnz  dat  you 
say?" 

"  Why  are  you  not  at  school  to-day  ?  " 

"  Ain'  got  no  teacher.  Mars  Geo'ge.  Teacher 's 
gone !  " 

"  Gone  !  "  exclaimed  Tryon,  with  a  sudden  leap 
of  the  heart.  *'  Gone  where  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  Teacher  got  los'  in  de  swamp,  night  befo'  las', 
*cause  Plato  wa'n't  dere  ter  show  her  de  way  out'n 
de  woods.  Elder  Johnson  foun'  'er  wid  dawffs  and 
tawches,  an'  fotch  her  home  an'  put  her  ter  bed. 
No  school  yistiddy.  She  wuz  out'n  her  haid  las' 
night,  an'  dis  mawnin'  she  wuz  gone." 

"  Gone  where  ?  " 

"  Dey  don'  nobody  know  whar,  suh." 

Leaving  Plato  abruptly,  Tryon  hastened  down 
the  road  toward  Elder  Johnson's  cabin.  This  was 
no  time  to  stand  on  punctilio.  The  girl  had  been 
lost  in  the  woods  in  the  storm,  amid  the  thunder 
and  lightning  and  the  pouring  rain.  She  was 
sick  with  fright  and  exposure,  and  he  was  the 
cause  of  it  all.  Bribery,  corruption,  and  falsehood 
had  brought  punishment  in  their  train,  and  the 
innocent  had  suffered  while  the  guilty  escaped. 
He  must  learn  at  once  what  had  become  of  her. 


THE  POWER  OF  LOVE  279 

Reaching  Elder  Jolinson's  house,  he  drew  up  by 
the  front  fence  and  gave  the  customary  halloa, 
which  summoned  a  woman  to  the  door. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said,  nodding  unconsciously, 
with  the  careless  politeness  of  a  gentleman  to  his 
inferiors.  "I  'm  Mr.  Tryon.  I  have  come  to 
inquire  about  the  sick  teacher." 

"  Why,  suh,"  the  woman  replied  respectfully, 
"  she  got  los'  in  de  woods  night  befo'  las',  an'  she 
wuz  out'n  her  min'  most  er  de  time  yistiddy. 
Las'  night  she  must  'a'  got  out  er  bed  an'  run 
away  w'en  eve'ybody  wuz  soun'  asleep,  fer  dis 
mawnin'  she  wuz  gone,  an'  none  er  us  knows  whar 
she  is." 

"  Has  any  search  been  made  for  her  ?  " 

"  Yas,  suh,  my  husban'  an'  de  child'en  has  been 
huntin'  roun'  all  de  mawnin',  an'  he  's  gone  ter 
borry  a  hoss  now  ter  go  f u'ther.  But  Lawd  knows 
dey  ain'  no  tellin'  whar  she  'd  go,  'less'n  she  got 
her  min'  back  sence  she  lef." 

Tryon' s  mare  was  in  good  condition.  He  had 
money  in  his  pocket  and  nothing  to  interfere  with 
his  movements.  He  set  out  immediately  on  the 
road  to  Patesville,  keeping  a  lookout  by  the  road- 
side, and  stopping  each  person  he  met  to  inquire 
if  a  young  woman,  apparently  ill,  had  been  seen 
traveling  along  the  road  on  foot.  No  one  had  met 
such  a  traveler.  When  he  had  gone  two  or  three 
miles,  he  drove  through  a  shallow  branch  that 
crossed  the  road.  The  sj^lashing  of  his  horse's 
hoofs  in  the  water  prevented  him  from  hearing  a 


280       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE  CEDARS 

low  groan  that  came  from  the  woods  by  the  road- 
side. 

He  drove  on,  making  inquiries  at  each  farm- 
house and  of  every  person  whom  he  encountered. 
Shortly  after  crossing  the  branch,  he  met  a  young 
negro  with  a  cartload  of  tubs  and  buckets  and 
piggins,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  seen  on  the  road 
a  young  white  woman  with  dark  eyes  and  hair, 
apparently  sick  or  demented.  The  young  man 
answered  in  the  negative,  and  Tryon  pushed  for- 
ward anxiously. 

At  noon  he  stopped  at  a  farmhouse  and  swal- 
lowed a  hasty  meal.  His  mquiries  here  elicited  no 
information,  and  he  was  just  leaving  when  a  young 
man  came  in  late  to  dinner  and  stated,  in  response 
to  the  usual  question,  that  he  had  met,  some  two 
hours  before,  a  young  woman  who  answered 
Tryon' s  description,  on  the  Lillington  road,  which 
crossed  the  main  road  to  Patesville  a  short  distance 
beyond  the  farmhouse.  He  had  spoken  to  the 
woman.  At  first  she  had  paid  no  heed  to  his 
question.  When  addressed  a  second  time,  she  had 
answered  in  a  rambling  and  disconnected  way, 
which  indicated  to  his  mind  that  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with  her. 

Tryon  thanked  his  informant  and  hastened  to 
the  Lillington  road.  Stopping  as  before  to  inquire, 
he  followed  the  woman  for  several  hours,  each 
mile  of  the  distance  taking  him  farther  away  from 
Patesville.  From  time  to  time  he  heard  of  the 
woman.     Toward   nightfall  he   found   her.     She 


THE  POWER  OF  LOVE  281 

was  white  enough,  with  the  sallowness  of  the  sand- 
hill poor  white.  She  was  still  young,  perhaps,  but 
poverty  and  a  hard  life  made  her  look  older  than 
she  ought.  She  was  not  fair,  and  she  was  not 
Rena.  When  Tryon  came  up  to  her,  she  was  sitting 
on  the  doorsill  of  a  miserable  cabin,  and  held  in 
her  hand  a  bottle,  the  contents  of  which  had  never 
paid  any  revenue  tax.  She  had  walked  twenty 
miles  that  day,  and  had  beguiled  the  tedium  of  the 
journey  by  occasional  potations,  which  probably 
accounted  for  the  in  coherency  of  speech  which  sev- 
eral of  those  who  met  her  had  observed.  When 
Tryon  drew  near,  she  tendered  him  the  bottle  w4th 
tipsy  cordiality.  He  turned  in  disgust  and  re- 
traced his  steps  to  the  Patesville  road,  which  he 
did  not  reach  until  nightfall.  As  it  was  too  dark 
to  prosecute  the  search  with  any  chance  of  success, 
he  secured  lodging  for  the  night,  intending  to 
resume  his  quest  early  in  the  morning. 


xxxin 

A   MULE   AND   A   CART 

Frank  Fowler's  heart  was  filled  with  longing 
for  a  sight  of  Rena's  face.  When  she  had  gone  away 
first,  on  the  ill-fated  trip  to  South  Carohna,  her 
absence  had  left  an  aching  void  in  his  life ;  he  had 
missed  her  cheerful  smile,  her  pleasant  words,  her 
graceful  figure  moving  about  across  the  narrow 
street.  His  work  had  gTOwn  monotonous  during 
her  absence  ;  the  clatter  of  hammer  and  mallet, 
that  had  seemed  so  merry  when  punctuated  now 
and  then  by  the  strains  of  her  voice,  became  a  mere 
humdrum  rapping  of  wood  upon  wood  and  iron 
upon  iron.  He  had  sought  work  in  South  Caro- 
lina with  the  hope  that  he  might  see  her.  He  had 
satisfied  this  hope,  and  had  tried  in  vain  to  do 
her  a  service ;  but  Fate  had  been  against  her ;  her 
castle  of  cards  had  come  tumbling  down.  He  felt 
that  her  sorrow  had  brought  her  nearer  to  him. 
The  distance  between  them  depended  very  much 
upon  their  way  of  looking  at  things.  He  knew 
that  her  experience  had  dragged  her  through  the 
valley  of  humiliation.  His  unselfish  devotion  had 
reacted  to  refine  and  elevate  his  own  spirit.  When 
he  heard  the  suggestion,  after  her  second  departure, 


A  MULE  AND  A  CART  283 

that  she  might  marry  Wain,  he  could  not  but  com- 
pare himself  with  this  new  aspirant.  He,  Frank, 
was  a  man,  an  honest  man  —  a  better  man  than 
the  shifty  scoundrel  with  whom  she  had  ridden 
away.  She  was  but  a  woman,  the  best  and  sweet- 
est and  loveliest  of  all  women,  but  yet  a  woman. 
After  a  few  short  years  of  happiness  or  sorrow, — 
little  of  joy,  perhaps,  and  much  of  sadness,  which 
had  begun  already,  —  they  would  both  be  food  for 
worms.  White  people,  with  a  deeper  wisdom  per- 
haps than  they  used  in  their  own  case,  regarded 
Rena  and  himself  as  very  much  alike.  They  were 
certainly  both  made  by  the  same  God,  in  much  the 
same  physical  and  mental  mould ;  they  breathed 
the  same  air,  ate  the  same  food,  spoke  the  same 
speech,  loved  and  hated,  laughed  and  cried,  lived 
and  would  die,  the  same.  If  God  had  meant  to 
rear  any  impassable  barrier  between  people  of  con- 
trasting complexions,  why  did  He  not  express  the 
prohibition  as  He  had  done  between  other  orders 
of  creation  ? 

When  Rena  had  departed  for  Sampson  County, 
Frank  had  reconciled  himself  to  her  absence  by 
the  hope  of  her  speedy  retui-n.  He  often  stepped 
across  the  street  to  talk  to  Mis'  Molly  about  her. 
Several  letters  had  passed  between  mother  and 
daughter,  and  in  response  to  Frank's  inquiries  his 
neighbor  uniformly  stated  that  Rena  was  well  and 
doing  well,  and  sent  her  love  to  all  inquiring 
friends.  But  Frank  observed  that  Mis'  Molly, 
when  pressed  as  to  the  date  of  Rena's  return,  grew 


284      THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

more  and  more  indefinite ;  and  finally  the  mother, 
in  a  bnrst  of  confidential  friendship,  told  Frank  of 
all  her  hopes  with  reference  to  the  stranger  from 
down  the  country. 

"  Yas,  Frank,"  she  concluded,  "  it  11  be  her  own 
fault  ef  she  don't  become  a  lady  of  proputty,  fer 
Mr.  Wain  is  rich,  an'  owns  a  big  plantation,  an' 
hires  a  lot  of  hands,  and  is  a  big  man  in  the  county. 
He  's  crazy  to  git  her,  an'  it  all  lays  in  her  own 
ban's." 

Frank  did  not  find  this  news  reassuring.  He 
believed  that  Wain  was  a  liar  and  a  scoundrel. 
He  had  nothing  more  than  his  intuitions  upon 
which  to  found  this  belief,  but  it  was  none  the  less 
firm.  If  his  estimate  of  the  man's  character  were 
correct,  then  his  wealth  might  be  a  fiction,  pure 
and  simple.  If  so,  the  truth  should  be  known 
to  Mis'  Molly,  so  that  instead  of  encouraging 
a  marriage  with  Wain,  she  would  see  him  in  his 
true  light,  and  interpose  to  rescue  her  daughter 
from  his  importunities.  A  day  or  two  after  this 
conversation,  Frank  met  in  the  town  a  negro  from 
Sampson  County,  made  his  acquaintance,  and 
inquired  if  he  knew  a  man  by  the  name  of  Jeff 
Wain. 

"  Oh,  Jeff  Wain !  "  retm-ned  the  countryman 
slightingly ;  "  yas,  I  knows  'im,  an'  don'  know  no 
good  of  'im.  One  er  dese  yer  biggity,  braggin' 
niggers  —  talks  lack  he  own  de  whole  county,  an' 
ain't  wuth  no  mo'  d'n  I  is  —  jes'  a  big  bladder  wid 
a  handful  er  shot  rattlin'  roun'  in  it.     Had  a  wife, 


A  MULE  AND  A  CART  285 

when  I  wuz  clere,  an'  beat  her  an'  'bused  her  so 
she  had  ter  run  away." 

This  was  alarmino'  information.  Wain  had 
passed  in  the  town  as  a  single  man,  and  Frank  had 
had  no  liint  that  he  had  ever  been  married.  There 
was  somethino'  wrong;  somewhere.  Frank  deter- 
mined  that  he  would  find  out  the  truth  and,  if 
possible,  do  something  to  protect  Rena  against  the 
obviously  evil  designs  of  the  man  who  had  taken 
her  away.  The  barrel  factory  had  so  affected  the 
cooper's  trade  that  Peter  and  Frank  had  turned 
their  attention  more  or  less  to  the  manufacture  of 
small  woodenware  for  domestic  use.  Frank's  mule 
was  eating  off  its  own  head,  as  the  saying  goes.  It 
required  but  little  effort  to  persuade  Peter  that 
his  son  mio:ht  take  a  load  of  buckets  and  tubs  and 
piggins  into  the  country  and  sell  them  or  trade 
them  for  country  produce  at  a  profit. 

In  a  few  days  Frank  had  his  stock  prepared,  and 
set  out  on  the  road  to  Sampson  County.  He  went 
about  thirty  miles  the  first  day,  and  camped  by 
the  roadside  for  the  night,  resuming  the  journey 
at  dawn.  After  driving  for  an  hour  through  the 
tall  pines  that  overhung  the  road  like  the  stately 
arch  of  a  cathedral  aisle,  weaving  a  carpet  for  the 
earth  with  their  brown  spines  and  cones,  and  sooth- 
ing" the  ear  with  their  ceaseless  murmur,  Frank 
sto]3ped  to  water  his  mide  at  a  point  where  the 
white,  sandy  road,  widening  as  it  went,  sloj^ed 
dow^iward  to  a  clear-running  branch.  On  the 
right  a  bay-tree  bending  over  the  stream  mingled 


286       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

the  heavy  odor  of  its  flowers  with  the  delicate  per- 
fume of  a  yellow  jessamine  vine  that  had  overrun 
a  clump  of  saplings  on  the  left.  From  a  neigh- 
boring tree  a  silver-throated  mocking-bird  poured 
out  a  flood  of  riotous  melody.  j\  group  of  minnows, 
startled  by  the  splashing  of  the  mule's  feet,  darted 
away  into  the  shadow  of  the  thicket,  their  quick 
passage  leaving  the  amber  water  filled  with  laugh- 
ing light. 

The  mule  drank  long  and  lazily,  while  over 
Frank  stole  thoughts  in  harmony  with  the  peaceful 
scene,  —  thoughts  of  Rena,  young  and  beautiful, 
her  friendly  smile,  her  pensive  dark  eyes.  He 
would  soon  see  her  now,  and  if  she  had  any  cause 
for  fear  or  unhai^piness,  he  would  place  himself  at 
her  service  —  for  a  day,  a  week,  a  month,  a  year, 
a  lifetime,  if  need  be. 

His  reverie  was  broken  by  a  slight  noise  from 
the  thicket  at  his  left.  "  I  wonder  who  dat  is  ? " 
he  muttered.  "  It  soun's  mighty  quare,  ter  say  de 
leas'." 

He  listened  intently  for  a  moment,  but  heard 
nothing  further.  "  It  must  'a'  be'n  a  rabbit  er 
somethin'  scamp'in'  th'ough  de  woods.  G'long 
dere,  Caesar !  " 

As  the  mule  stepped  forward,  the  sound  was 
repeated.  This  time  it  was  distinctly  audible,  the 
long,  low  moan  of  some  one  in  sickness  or  distress. 

"  Dat  ain't  no  rabbit,"  said  Frank  to  himself. 
"  Dere  's  somethin'  wrong  dere.  Stan'  here,  Cae- 
sar, till  I  look  inter  dis  matter." 


A  MULE  AND   A  CART  287 

Pulling  out  from  the  branch,  Frank  sprang 
from  the  saddle  and  pushed  his  way  cautiously 
thi'ough  the  outer  edge  of  the  thicket. 

"  Good  Lawd  !  "  he  exclaimed  with  a  start,  "it 's 
a  woman  —  a  w'ite  woman  ! " 

The  slender  form  of  a  young  woman  lay  stretched 
upon  the  ground  in  a  small  open  space  a  few  yards 
in  extent.  Her  face  was  turned  away,  and  Frank 
could  see  at  first  only  a  tangled  mass  of  dark  brown 
hair,  matted  with,  twigs  and  leaves  and  cocklebiu's, 
and  hanging  in  wild  profusion  around  her  neck. 

Frank  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute,  debating 
the  serious  question  whether  he  should  investigate 
further  with  a  view  to  rendering  assistance,  or 
whether  he  should  put  as  great  a  distance  as  possi- 
ble between  himself  and  this  victim,  as  she  might 
easily  be,  of  some  violent  crime,  lest  he  should 
himself  be  suspected  of  it  —  a  not  unlikely  con- 
tingency, if  he  were  found  in  the  neighborhood  and 
the  woman  should  prove  unable  to  describe  her 
assailant.  While  he  hesitated,  the  figure  moved 
restlessly,  and  a  voice  murmured  :  — 

"  Mamma,  oh,  mamma !  " 

The  voice  thrilled  Frank  like  an  electric  shock. 
Trembling  in  every  limb,  he  sprang  forward  toward 
the  prostrate  figure.  The  woman  turned  her  head, 
and  he  saw  that  it  was  Rena.  Her  gown  was  torn 
and  dusty,  and  fringed  with  burs  and  briars. 
When  she  had  wandered  forth,  half  delirious,  pur- 
sued by  imaginary  foes,  she  had  not  stopped  to  put 
on  her  shoes,  and  her  little  feet  were  blistered  and 


288       THE  HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

swollen  and  bleeding.  Frank  knelt  by  her  side 
and  lifted  her  head  on  his  arm.  He  put  his  hand 
upon  her  brow ;  it  was  burning  with  fever. 

"  Miss  Rena !   Rena !  don't  you  Jiuow  me  ?  " 

She  turned  her  wild  eyes  on  him  suddenly. 
"  Yes,  I  know  you,  Jeff  Wain.  Go  away  from 
me  !     Go  away  !  " 

Her  voice  rose  to  a  scream ;  she  struggled  in 
his  grasp  and  struck  at  him  fiercely  with  her 
clenched  fists.  Her  sleeve  fell  back  and  disclosed 
the  white  scar  made  by  his  own  hand  so  many 
years  before. 

"  You  're  a  wicked  man,"  she  panted.  "  Don't 
touch  me !     I  hate  you  and  despise  you  !  " 

Frank  could  only  surmise  how  she  had  come 
here,  in  such  a  condition.  When  she  spoke  of 
Wain  in  this  manner,  he  drew  his  own  conclusions. 
Some  deadly  villainy  of  Wain's  had  brought  her 
to  this  pass.  Anger  stirred  his  nature  to  the 
depths,  and  found  vent  in  curses  on  the  author  of 
Rena's  misfortunes. 

"  Damn  him  !  "  he  groaned.  "  I  '11  have  his 
heart's  blood  fer  dis,  ter  de  las'  droj) !  " 

Rena  now  laughed  and  put  up  her  arms  ap- 
pealingly.  "  George,"  she  cried,  in  melting  tones, 
"  dear  George,  do  you  love  me  ?  How  much  do 
you  love  me  ?  Ah,  you  don't  love  me ! "  she 
moaned  ;  "  I  'm  black  ;  you  don't  love  me ;  you 
despise  me !  " 

Her  voice  died  away  into  a  hopeless  wail. 
Frank  knelt  by  her  side,  his  faitliful  heart  break- 


A  MULE  AND  A   CART  289 

ing  witli  pity,  great  tears  rolling  untouched  down 
his  dusky  cheeks. 

"  Oh,  my  honey,  my  darlin',''  he  sobbed,  "  Frank 
loves  you  better  'n  all  de  worl'." 

Meantime  the  sun  shone  on  as  brightly  as  be- 
fore, the  mocking-bird  sang  yet  more  joyously. 
A  gentle  breeze  sprang  up  and  wafted  the  odor  of 
bay  and  jessamine  past  them  on  its  wings.  The 
grand  triumphal  sweep  of  nature's  onward  march 
recked  nothing  of  life's  little  tragedies. 

When  the  first  burst  of  his  gi^ief  was  over, 
Frank  brought  water  from  the  branch,  bathed 
Rena's  face  and  hands  and  feet,  and  forced  a  few 
drops  between  her  reluctant  lij)s.  He  then  pitched 
the  cartload  of  tubs,  buckets,  and  piggins  out  into 
the  road,  and  gathering  dried  leaves  and  pine- 
straw,  spread  them  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart.  He 
stooped,  lifted  her  frail  form  in  his  arms,  and  laid 
it  on  the  leafy  bed.  Cutting  a  couple  of  hickory 
withes,  he  arched  them  over  the  cart,  and  gather- 
ing an  armful  of  jessamine  quickly  wove  It  Into 
an  awning  to  protect  her  from  the  sun.  She  was 
quieter  now,  and  seemed  to  fall  asleep. 

"  Go  ter  sleep,  honey,"  he  murmured  caressingly, 
—  "  go  ter  sleep,  an'  Frank  '11  take  you  home  ter 
yo'  mammy !  " 

Toward  noon  he  was  met  by  a  young  white  man, 
who  peered  inquisitively  into  the  canopied  cart. 

"  Hello  !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "  who  've  you 
got  there  ?  " 

"  A  sick  w^oman,  suh." 


290       THE   HOUSE   BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

"  Why,  she  's  white,  as  I  'm  a  sinner !  "  he 
cried,  after  a  closer  inspection.  "  Look  a-here, 
nigger,  what  are  you  doin'  with  this  white  woman?  " 

"  She  's  not  w'ite,  boss,  —  she  's  a  bright  mu- 
latter." 

"  Yas,  mighty  bright,"  continued  the  stranger 
suspiciously.     "  Where  are  you  goin'  with  her  ?  " 

"  I  'm  takin'  her  ter  Patesville,  ter  her  mam- 
my." 

The  stranger  passed  on.  Toward  evening  Frank 
heard  hounds  baying  in  the  distance.  A  fox, 
weary  with  running,  brush  drooping,  crossed  the 
road  ahead  of  the  cart.  Presently,  the  hounds 
straggled  across  the  road,  followed  by  two  or  three 
hunters  on  horseback,  who  stopped  at  sight  of  the 
strangely  canopied  cart.  They  stared  at  the  sick 
girl  and  demanded  who  she  was. 

"I  don't  b'lieve  she's  black  at  all,"  declared 
one,  after  Frank's  brief  explanation.  "  This  nig- 
ger has  a  bad  eye,  —  he 's  up  ter  some  sort  of 
devilment.     What  ails  the  girl  ?  " 

"  'Pears  ter  be  some  kind  of  a  fever,"  replied 
Frank ;  adding  diplomatically,  ''  I  don't  know 
whether  it's  ketchin'  er  no — she's  be'n  out  er 
her  head  most  er  de  time." 

They  drew  off  a  little  at  this.  "  I  reckon  it 's 
all  right,"  said  the  chief  spokesman.  The  hounds 
were  baying  clamorously  in  the  distance.  The 
hunters  followed  the  sound  and  disappeared  in  the 
woods. 

Frank  drove  all  day  and  all  night,  stopping  only 


A  MULE   AND   A  CART  291 

for  brief  periods  of  rest  and  refreshment.  At 
dawn,  from  the  top  of  the  long  white  hill,  he 
sighted  the  river  bridge  below.  At  sunrise  he 
rapped  at  Mis'  Molly's  door. 

Upon  rising  at  da^vn,  Tryon's  first  step,  after 
a  hasty  breakfast,  was  to  turn  back  toward  Clin- 
ton. He  had  wasted  half  a  day  in  following  the 
false  scent  on  the  Lillington  road.  It  seemed, 
after  reflection,  unlikely  that  a  woman  seriously 
ill  should  have  been  able  to  walk  any  considera- 
ble distance  before  her  strength  gave  out.  In  her 
delirium,  too,  she  might  have  wandered  in  a  wrong 
direction,  imagining  any  road  to  lead  to  Patesville. 
It  would  be  a  good  plan  to  drive  back  home, 
continuing  his  inquiries  meantime,  and  ascertain 
whether  or  not  she  had  been  found  by  those  who 
were  seeking  her,  including  many  whom  Tryon's 
inquiries  had  placed  upon  the  alert.  If  she  should 
j)rove  still  missing,  he  would  resume  the  journey 
to  Patesville  and  continue  the  search  in  that  direc- 
tion. She  had  probably  not  wandered  far  from 
the  highroad  ;  even  in  delirium  she  would  be  likely 
to  avoid  the  deep  woods,  with  which  her  ilhiess 
was  associated. 

He  had  retraced  more  than  half  the  distance 
to  Clinton  when  he  overtook  a  covered  wagon. 
The  driver,  when  questioned,  said  that  he  had  met 
a  young  negro  with  a  mule,  and  a  cart  in  which 
lay  a  young  woman,  white  to  all  appearance,  but 
claimed  by  the  negro  to  be  a  colored  girl  who 


292       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND   THE   CEDARS 

had  been  taken  sick  on  the  road,  and  whom  he 
was  conveying  home  to  her  mother  at  Patesville. 
From  a  fm'ther  description  of  the  cart  Tryon  re- 
cognized it  as  the  one  he  had  met  the  day  before. 
The  woman  could  be  no  other  than  Rena.  He 
turned  his  mare  and  set  out  swiftly  on  the  road  to 
Patesville. 

If  anything  coidd  have  taken  more  complete 
possession  of  George  Tryon  at  twenty-three  than 
love  successful  and  triumphant,  it  was  love  thwarted 
and  denied.  Never  in  the  few  brief  delirious 
weeks  of  his  courtship  had  he  felt  so  strongly 
drawn  to  the  beautiful  sister  of  the  popular  lawyer, 
as  he  was  now  driven  by  an  aching  heart  toward 
the  same  woman  stripped  of  every  adventitious 
advantage  and  placed,  by  custom,  beyond  the  pale 
of  marriage  with  men  of  his  own  race.  Custom 
was  tyi'anny.  Love  was  the  only  law.  Would 
God  have  made  hearts  to  so  yearn  for  one  another 
if  He  had  meant  them  to  stay  forever  apart  ?  If 
this  girl  should  die,  it  would  be  he  who  had  killed 
her,  by  his  cruelty,  no  less  surely  than  if  with 
his  own  hand  he  had  struck  her  down.  He  had 
been  so  dazzled  by  his  own  superiority,  so  blinded 
by  his  own  glory,  that  he  had  ruthlessly  spurned 
and  spoiled  the  image  of  God  in  this  fair  creature, 
whom  he  might  have  had  for  his  own  treasure,  — • 
whom,  please  God,  he  would  yet  have,  at  any  cost, 
to  love  and  cherish  while  they  both  shoidd  live. 
There  were  difficulties  —  they  had  seemed  insuper- 
able, but   love  would  surmount  them.     Sacrifices 


A  MULE  AND   A  CART  293 

must  be  made,  but  if  tlie  world  without  love  would 
be  nothing',  then  why  not  give  up  the  world  for 
love  ?  He  would  hasten  to  Patesville.  He  would 
find  her  ;  he  would  tell  her  that  he  loved  her,  that 
she  was  all  the  world  to  him,  that  he  had  come  to 
marry  her,  and  take  her  away  where  they  might 
be  happy  together.  He  pictured  to  himself  the 
joy  that  would  light  up  her  face  ;  he  felt  her  soft 
arms  around  his  neck,  her  tremulous  kisses  upon 
his  lips.  If  she  were  ill,  his  love  would  woo  her 
back  to  health,  —  if  disappointment  and  sorrow 
had  contributed  to  her  illness,  joy  and  gladness 
should  lead  to  her  recovery. 

He  urged  the  mare  forward ;  if  she  would  but 
keep  up  her  present  j)ace,  he  would  reach  Pates- 
ville by  nightfall. 

Dr.  Green  had  just  gone  down  the  garden  path 
to  his  buggy  at  the  gate.  Mis'  Molly  came  out  to 
the  back  piazza,  where  Frank,  weary  and  haggard, 
sat  on  the  steps  with  Homer  Pettifoot  and  Billy 
Oxendine,  who,  hearing  of  Rena's  return,  had 
come  around  after  their  day's  work. 

"  Rena  wants  to  see  you,  Frank,"  said  Mis' 
Mollv,  with  a  sob. 

He  walked  in  softly,  reverently,  and  stood  by  her 
bedside.  She  turned  her  gentle  eyes  upon  him 
and  put  out  her  slender  hand,  which  he  took  in  his 
own  broad  pahn. 

"  Frank,"  she  murmured,  "  my  good  friend  — 
my  best  friend  —  you  loved  me  best  of  them  all." 


294       THE  HOUSE  BEHIND  THE  CEDARS 

The  tears  rolled  untouclied  down  his  cheeks. 
"  I  'd  'a'  died,  fer  you,  Miss  Rena,"  he  said  bro- 
kenly. 

Mary  B.  threw  open  a  window  to  make  way  for 
the  passing  spirit,  and  the  red  and  golden  glory 
of  the  setting  sun,  triumphantly  ending  his  daily 
course,  flooded  the  narrow  room  with  light. 

Between  sunset  and  dark  a  traveler,  seated  in  a 
dusty  buggy  drawn  by  a  tired  horse,  crossed  the 
long  river  bridge  and  drove  up  Front  Street. 
Just  as  the  buggy  reached  the  gate  in  front  of  the 
house  beliind  the  cedars,  a  woman  was  tying  a 
piece  of  crape  upon  the  door-knob.  Pale  with 
apprehension,  Tryon  sat  as  if  petrified,  until  a 
tall,  side-whiskered  mulatto  came  down  the  garden 
walk  to  the  front  gate. 

"  Who  's  dead  ?  "  demanded  Tryon  hoarsely, 
scarcely  recognizing  his  own  voice. 

"A  young  cullud  'oman,  suh,"  answered  Ho- 
mer Pettifoot,  touching  his  hat,  "  Mis'  Molly 
Walden's  daughter  Rena." 


A 


Electrotyped  arid  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &>  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


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